How Long The Night

I write here my interpretation of the 13th Century lyrical poem 'How Long The Night', possibly the oldest surviving secular song in the english language. Written in the modulating phase of Old English becoming Middle English, its author is now lost to time. Thankfully the words are not. It remains a moving example of Anglo-Saxon poetry.

Merry, it is, while summer lasts

With the birdsong

But come, I feel the north winds blast

And now the storm is strong at last

Ey! What, this night is long!

And I, because of my great wrong

Greave, and mourn, and fast

Here is the original text;

Myrie it is while sumer

ylast with fugheles song.

Oc nu neheth windes blast

and weder strong. Ei, ei!

whatthis nicht is long. And

ich with wel michel wrong

soregh and murne and

fast.

I had this piece in mind when I created the work Cuthbert.

Even in the midst of the abundance of summer, with flowers and plants and fruits surrounding him he looks off, melancholy. Soon the cold will come and the fruit and the flowers will be no more.