This is not the flatlands - here the climate is different.
There are avalanches one after the other,
And here are rockslides one after the other.
And one can turn back, go around the crevasse,
But we choose a difficult path,
Dangerous, like an army route.

Whoever wasn’t here, who didn’t risk it -
Whoever didn’t test himself,
Even if he pulled a star down from the sky.
Down below you don’t encounter, you don’t get
From your entire, happy life
A tenth as many beauties and marvels.

There are no scarlet roses and funeral ribbons,
And it’s not at all like a monument
That rock that gave you rest.
Like an eternal flame that sparkles by day
The summit’s emerald ice,
Which you just couldn’t conquer.

And let them talk, yes let them talk!
But no, no one dies in vain,
It’s better than dying from vodka or from a cold.
Others will come, trading comfort
For risk and immeasureable labor,
For you they’ll finish the untravelled march route.

Perpendicular walls, well don’t shout!
You can’t rely on luck here.
In the mountains neither rock, nor ice, nor cliff are reliable.
We trust only in our fortress of arms,
In the arms of a friend and a pounded-in piton,
And we pray that our insurance hasn’t run out.

We chop out stairs. Not a step back!
And our knees shake from tension,
And our hearts on the summit are ready to leap from our chests.
The whole world is in our hands - you are happy
And only just a bit do you envy those,
The others to whom the summit is still up ahead.