European Elegies/Winter/The stranger
50.THE STRANGER
His youth was over, for his hair was grey,And his bent figure told of burdens borne;Life from his cheek had stol'n life's bloom awayAnd time upon his brow deep lines had worn.Ever his withered lips were folded fastAs if to guard a sorrow of the past.
Sometimes he wanly smiled as if to cloakA grief whose pangs consumed his tortured heart,But through his eyes his cold despair still spoke:My life, alas, has passed from joy apart.My ship is burnt, my weapons shattered lie,I live, indeed, but live in days gone by.
From the Swedish of Gustaf Fröding.