Rhona Beare’s translation of a poem originally published in “Songs of the Philologists” and included in Shippey’s “The Road to Middle-earth”. Translated from Gothic.

The birch bears fine leaves on shining boughs, it
grows pale green and glittering, the flower of the
trees in bloom, fair-haired and supple-limbed, the
ruler of the mountain.

The winds call, they shake gently, she bends her
boughs low in sport; smooth, straight and
white-barked, trembling she speaks a language, a
bright token, a good mystery, blessing my people.

Evening grows dark with clouds, the lightning
flashes, the fine leaves fly free, but firms and
faithful the white birch stands bare and waits,
ruling the mountain.

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