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Waltz of Saaremaa

There, birches smell like (on) a Saturday evening
when you press your blazing face into them,
and Sunday in your soul lets you believe
that cuckoos in a distance only cuckoo happiness
 
Ch. Oh, spin her, make her fly, that flaxen-haired maiden1
from whose eyes sparks so elvishly fly.
Nowhere in the world can you find a hayfield
like the ones of Saaremaa on a June night.
 
And in the dusk a bird-cherry as white as snow
is full of cheery nightingales for you
Why else would your lips and glowing face
seem so alike to an apple-blossom?
 
Ch.
 
Oh, dewy laps of grasslands of Saaremaa,
the meadow that rings due to songs in the silence of night!
The sky, luminous due to clouds, is above you
and the first allure of a passionate kiss.
 
Ch.
 
We are having a party on a hayfield, that is just like this,
where Twilight holds out her hand to Dawn.2
Everyone's thoughts and deeds have been joined
by this day full of chores and joys.
 
Ch. Oh, spin, coo some cunning story,
you, the youngish soldier with a golden star.
These nights are so light/white and pass quickly
that you cannot chase a flaxen-haired girl.
 
  • 1. might be both vocative or the object
  • 2. Two lovers from Estonian artificial mythology (by Fr. R. Faehlmann) who can only meet once a year on St John's Night. Dawn is the boy.
Оригинални текстови

Saaremaa valss

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