Translated by A. Z. Foreman - To a Saxon Poet lyrics

The snowscape of Northumbria has known And forgotten the footprints left by you. Innumerable are the days the sun Has set, gray brother, in between us two. Slow in slow shadow you would work your lines Out into metaphors of swords at sea And of the dread that dwelt among the pines And of the lonely thing that time could be. Where shall I seek your features and your name? Such things as these antique oblivion can Never divulge. I'll never know what came Of you when you on earth were yet a man. You walked the ways of exile. You were strong; Now you are nothing but your iron song.