I feel the undefeated fear,
In presence of the misty heights;
I'm glad that swallows fly here
And I enjoy the belfry's flight!
The ancient traveler is going, I suppose,
Above the gulf on bending footway's planks,
The snow ball continues in its growth,
And great eternity on clocks of stone strikes.
But I am not that traveler at all,
That flashes on the dry and faded leaves,
And really in me the sadness calls;
Indeed, the avalanche among the highlands lives!
A ring of bells my own soul fills -
But music cannot save from devastating falls!
