I
Darkness like the grave, frost grips the windows,
the parlour’s kept warm by the stove;
the hearth’s shining bright, see the old woman doze,
girls are spinning, soft flax to weave.

“Whirr as you turn, my spinning wheel, sing,
behold, Advent is now approaching,
and then soon, very soon, Christmas Eve!”

To a girl it gives pleasure for certain,
on dull winter evenings to weave,
for her hard work will never be in vain,
in that she must firmly believe.

A young man visits the busy girl boldly;
he says: My dear girl, come to me,
you shall be my wife, beloved dearly;
your faithful husband I will be.

I’ll be your husband, we will be wed;
give me your hand, oh my darling!—
and now the girl who was spinning fine thread
is sewing shirts for their wedding.

“Whirr as you turn, my spinning wheel, sing,
for again Advent is approaching,
before you know it, Christmas Eve!”

II
Hey, Christmas Eve, Christmas Eve,
you feast of mystery,
what and for whom will you leave
as a fond memory?

O you kindly Christmas Eve,
for their milk give to cows,
the cockerel garlic shall have,
to his hen bird give peas.

To all the fruit-bearing trees
give bones left from the feast,
shine on the wall gold piggies
for those who keep the fast.

Hey, I am but a young maid, 
whose heart belongs to none; 
something else preys on my mind, 
it’s something else, someone.

By the wood, ah, by the wood—
the lord’s estate, you know—
tall old willows always stood,
grey heads covered in snow.

Bending over, one willow
motions secretly down
towards the blue lake below,
beneath ice it’s hidden.

Girls at midnight—goes the word—
if the moon’s shining clear,
can see their own destined lad
on the surface appear.

Hey, midnight I do not fear,
nor sayings that are false.
I will seize me this axe here
and I will break the ice.

Then I’ll peer into the lake,
deep as deep, deep and far,
into his eyes I will look,
look face to face my dear.

III
Maria and Hana, two lovely names,
maidens like spring roses in bloom:
which of these maidens may have greater charms
you’ll be guessing till kingdom come.

If one of them starts talking to a lad,
for her sake he will go through fire,
unless the other maiden smiles a tad—
then thoughts of the first all expire!

Midnight arrived. And across the broad sky
scattered starlets lit up the night,
like a flock of sheep under shepherd’s keen eye,
the moon’s the shepherd, clear and bright.

Midnight arrived, mother of every night,
it was midnight on Christmas Eve;
and in the fresh snow new footsteps are in sight,
for the lake the village they leave.

Her face near the water, one girl’s kneeling;
the other one stands next to her:
“Hana, Hana dear, Hana my darling,
what strange things do you see down there?”

“Ah, I see a cottage—the light’s so poor—
I think it may be Václav’s place—
now it gets clearer—ah, I see a door,
in the doorway there’s a man’s face!

He’s wearing a coat, colour of dark green,
it’s him—his hat’s cocked to one side!
It still bears that posy from me that you’ve seen—
oh, dear God, it’s Václav, indeed!”

She leaps to her feet, her heart is racing,
the other bends down on her knee:
“Bless you, my dear, Maria, my darling,
what are these visions that you see?”

“Ah, I see, I see—it’s very misty,
so I can’t see anything much:
from there some red lamps are shining faintly—
I think it must be in a church.

Something black shows amongst all the whiteness—
now at last there is some brightness—
I can see bridesmaids, and there amongst them, 
dear God! A coffin and black cross!”

IV
A warm breeze is playing now
over sprouting young wheat;
orchard and floral meadow
blooming charmingly, neat;
early morning music from the church is heard
with hurrahs and with lovely flowers adorned
the revellers depart.

The handsome bridegroom is seen,
with the folk of the bride,
his coat in colour dark green,
his hat cocked to one side:
that is how she saw him at that fateful time,
and so he will today be bringing her home,
Hana, his lovely bride.

*

Summer has passed. In fields here
chill winds are now blowing.
The church bell tolls. On a bier
the corpse they are bringing:
bridesmaids in white, bright candlelight shining;
weeping and lamenting, with trumpets blaring,
from a distance sounding:
Miserere mei!

Whose is the garland of green,
who lies in the coffin?
She has died, ah! she has died,
maiden lily, alas.
She blossomed as if by dew she was watered,
and faded as if by a scythe she was felled—
poor Maria, alas!

V
Winter has arrived, frost grips the windows,
the parlour’s kept warm by the stove;
the hearth’s shining bright, see the old woman lies,
girls again spin soft flax to weave.

“Whirr as you turn, my spinning wheel, sing,
for now Advent is again approaching,
and soon it will be Christmas Eve!

Ah, you Christmas Eve, again,
a night so wonderful,
but in my heart such sharp pain,
thinking of you, I feel!

Just like this we were sitting
all together last year:
before the end of the year 
two of us were missing!

One, her head in a scarf, sits
sewing her pretty shirts;
while one, three months to the day,
in black earth rots away,
poor Maria, alas!

Just like this we were sitting
yesterday and today,
but before the year’s ending—
where’ll we be, who can say?

Whirr as you turn, my spinning wheel, round,
All in the world goes around and around,
and human life is like a dream!

For it’s better to dream, have hopes unreal, 
and remain in obscurity
than all that is in store to reveal, 
discover the frightful verity!”