Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Father, Where do the Wild Swans Go?Charles Wharton Stork, trans.
From the Danish of Ludwig Holstein
Father, where do the wild swans go?
Far, far. Ceaselessly winging,
Their necks outstraining, they haste them singing
Far, far. Whither, none may know.
Far, far. The winds pursue them,
And over the shining heaven strew them
Far, far. Whither, none may know.
Far, far. Each runs and races—
No one can catch them, they leave no traces—
Far, far. Whither, none may know.
Far, far. Our dim eyes veiling,
With bended head we go sighing, wailing
Far, far. Whither, none may know.