Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916.
XIX. The Shrouding. Song of the ShroudAlma Strettell (1856–1939)
A Roumanian Folk-Song
(while spinning it)
T
Unto the ground art fallen,
Down to the earth art fallen,
Thou snow-white apple-blossom.
Yea, white as apple-blossoms,
White as a bridal wreath.
Thou wilt be soft for me, my gentle shroud,
Say, wilt thou not? nor chafe my limbs, when I
Have fallen asleep, and know of nothing more;
Whilst in the village houses, round about,
They light the fire without me, and draw near
To tell their tales and spin?
But whilst I sit and spin thee, winding-sheet,
Shall I not tell thee, too, some fairy-tale?
Down to the earth art fallen,
Unto the ground art fallen,
Thou snow-white apple-blossom.
Well shalt thou cover me
When cold my heart shall be!
But now upon my heart, while yet ’tis warm,
I clasp thee tenderly;
And since thou art to sleep
There in my grave with me,
Then look thy fill once more at this fair earth
That in the grave thou mayst remember her,
And down in that deep grave mayst gladden me
With telling of the earth.
But when thou speakest to me in my grave,
O shroud, O little shroud,
Tell me not of my home,
Nor of my casement, swinging in the wind,
Nor of the moon, that loves
To steal in through that casement;
Nor of the brook, where silver moonbeams bathe,
And where I used to drink.
Tell me not of my mother—tell me not
Of him, the bridegroom chosen out for me.
For then I should be sorry that I slept
Low in the grave with thee, my winding-sheet.
Yet speak to me
As though thou knewest naught of all these things—
Somewhat on this wise:
How that the world is not worth longing for,
For it is always winter there;
How that the moon for sweetheart hath the cloud,
And that my mother mourned me scarce an hour,
And that my bridegroom came not
To lay his fur-cap down upon my grave
That so the soul might think it was her nest.
Speak thus, my shroud,
And soundly will I sleep and heavily
Deep in my grave with thee,
And love thee as the wand’rer loves the well.
Wouldst have me love thee so, speak thus to me.
Unto the ground art fallen,
Down to the earth art fallen,
Thou snow-white apple-blossom.