Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Spring


The year has changed his mantle cold
Of wind, of rain, of bitter air;
And he goes clad in cloth of gold,
Of laughing suns and season fair;
No bird or beast of wood or wold
But doth with cry or song declare
The year lays down his mantle cold.
All founts, all rivers, seaward rolled,
The pleasant summer livery wear,
With silver studs on broidered vair;
The world puts off its raiment old,
The year lays down his mantle cold.

*

Charles d'Orléans (1391-1465), trans. Andrew Lang,
found in Confucius to Cummings: An Anthology of Poetry,
ed. Ezra Pound and Marcella Spann [New Directions, 1964, p. 108]

(Addendum, 2nd May 2013: I have also seen this translation credited to Sir Henry Wotton [1568-1639])