Winter translated from the Middle High German by Jon Corelis Winter withers all the meadow's flowers, and the frozen hours paint the woodlands pale: as the snowfalls thicken, lindens cast their stricken branches stark against the season's whiteness. Yet I mourn this barrenness less sadly than I grieve how badly Shame and Honor fail: Honor's stream runs shallow, Virtue's field lies fallow, no heart seeks to cull the rose of rightness. The spring restores the leaves and petals to the flowers on the thorn-hedge, but the man whom wickedness has taken and who has forsaken Honor's holy pledge walks a path of sorrows, nor can face tomorrow's gleaming dawn secure in manhood's brightness.
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