The shepherds almost wonder where they dwell
And the old dog for his right journey stares:
The path leads somewhere, but they cannot tell
And neighbour meets with neighbour unawares.
 
The maiden passes close beside her cow,
And wanders on, and thinks her far away;
The ploughman goes unseen behind his plough,
And seems to lose his horses half the day.
 
The lazy mist creeps on in journey slow;
The maidens shout and wonder where they go;
Do dull and dark are the November days.
 
The lazy mist high up the evening curled,
And now the morn quite hides in smoke and haze;
The place we ocupy seems all the world.