  KRINKEN was a little child,— It was summer when he smiled, Stretched its white arms out to him; Calling, “Sun-child, come to me; Let me warm my heart with thee!” But the child heard not the sea. Krinken on the beach one day Saw a maiden Nis at play; Fair, and very fair, was she, Just a little child was he. “Krinken,” said the maiden Nis, “Let me have a little kiss,— Just a kiss, and go with me To the summer-lands that be Down within the silver sea.” Krinken was a little child, By the maiden Nis beguiled; Down into the calling sea With the maiden Nis went he. But the sea calls out no more, It is winter on the shore,— Made sweet summer when he smiled; Though ’tis summer on the sea Where with maiden Nis went he,— Summer, summer evermore,— It is winter on the shore, Winter, winter evermore. Of the summer on the deep Come sweet visions in my sleep; His fair face lifts from the sea, His dear voice calls out to me,— These my dreams of summer be. Krinken was a little child, By the maiden Nis beguiled; Oft the hoary sea and grim Reached its longing arms to him, Crying, “Sun-child, come to me; Let me warm my heart with thee!” But the sea calls out no more; It is winter on the shore,— Winter, cold and dark and wild; Krinken was a little child,— Down he went into the sea, And the winter bides with me. Just a little child was he. |
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