My shaking hands are still at last; It’s time - climb on! All my doubts have dropped into the past Forever; my fear’s gone. There is no reason now to stop. I’ll hike on, I will glide! There is not a single mountaintop I can’t take in my stride! Of all the winding untrod tracks - Let one be mine! Of all the soaring unclimbed peaks - One will be mine. The names of those who passed away Are hidden in the snow. Of all the winding untrod ways One is mine, I know. The deep blue glow of icy sheets Will cloak the mountain side, And the secret marks of someone’s feet The granite will hide. I see my vision’s destiny; I know where to go. I believe in the truth and purity Of words and snow. The years may come, the years may go But I will recall My inner doubts died here I know - Once and for all. The water whispered to me then: "Good luck all your days!" But what day did this occur, and when? Ah yes, Wednesday!
© John Farndon + Olga Nakston. Translation, 2022