Pure white snow is decorating the most adorable face of my sleeping beloved.
She has put on her winter garments of shimmering white.
She has gone to rest now.
Wild northern winds are singing their lullabies for her.
The spirits of the eternal winter are coming down from the halls of the heavens to rest in her lap.
They love her more than anything…
Her soft and silent bosom is their only cradle and their only refuge.
Only in there can they find any peace for their restless souls.
This sleeping beauty has a crown of shining and glittering ice on her head.
Snowflakes are shimmering in her long, golden hair.
She is more beautiful than the angels of the heavens.
She is all beauty herself.
And silence only is her song now.
Her pure thoughts of eternal love are shimmering in the black winter sky like a crystal garden of a hundred million stars.
Aurora borealis is a ribbon in her hair, which is wildly dancing in the racing northern winds.
The spirits of the Ancient Viking kings have come down from Walhalla to celebrate her in her great sleep.
They will sit on her snow white breasts and drink golden meat from their goat horns to glorify her.
She is verily the same Goddess Freya whom they sang their prayers to, hundreds of winters ago, in the glorious battlefields of ancient Norway and Iceland, wherein the blood of the enemy was frozen on the battleground like a red silken cloth of death.
Like a grotesque blood red color on the lips of the sleeping beauty.
They sing their song now..:
“O Odin, o Thor! Wilt thou come in thy chariots of fire, and awaken this sleeping beauty, who has the blood of our fathers on her lips!
She is carrying our silver and our gold around her neck!
O sleeping Goddess Freya!
Mother of the Valkyrias!
Wilt thou awaken then, if old Father Odin will arrive in his battleship Fafnir, the dragon of wisdom, and bring you a hundred thousand wild horses from his land beyond the northern sea…
We are singing thy glories, o queen of Eternal winter!
The sagas of our fathers are written in the Edda!
So wilt thou hear us?
Come o Odin, come o Thor!
Awaken this awesome damsel who sleeps with the spirits of the winter in her lap!”
Thus they sang, the warriors of yore.
Through their hands the blood of the great Kings once ran like a river.
But she awakened not.
She kept on sleeping with a smile of a child on her face.
She will only awaken when the first larks will arrive from the land of the sun.
She will only awaken when the southern wind will whisper softly and sing a song of the approaching prince of spring.
The prince will ride on a white horse, and the horse will run through the clouds.
Then she shall finally awaken, and kiss the prince of the light sweetly on his lips.
And then Her spirit will fly like thousand white pigeons to the sun, and her tears of joy will flow down like a river to the crystal clear brooks, and rain down to the forrests to give a blessing to the awakening spirits of the summer.
And the May-queen will softly sing her songs in the thousand humming trees…