Illustrations by Ella Manor Lapointe

Ella Lapointe- First snow

First Snow


There appears from silver grey grounds

a slim deer

in winter woods

and tests with care, toe by toe,

the pure, cool, freshly fallen snow.

And I think of you, most delicate formation.


C. Morgenstern/ Translated by N. Williams

November Day - Ella Lapointe

November Day


Fog hangs smoke like round the home

forcing introspection

Few go out and no-one roams: 

all fall in reflection. 

Hand and mouth shall calmer be, 

gestures gentler seeming 

and, like deep down in the sea, 

Man and Earth are dreaming.


C. Morgenstern/ Translated by Walter A. Aue


October Storm - Ella Lapointe

October Storm


Wild-swaying oak tree 

midst evening's red-

Lifestorm's dreams cloak thee 

with crimson dead-

Leaves, whirling hither, 

gossip, malign

nightcold the shiver 

runs up the spine. 


C. Morgenster/ Translated by Walter A. Aue


September day - Ella Lapointe

September Day


This is the autumn's sorrow-sweetened clearness, 

that liberates as well as it harangues; 

when crystal truth its spirit o'er the nearness 

of woods and mountains as a garment hangs.

This is the autumn's sorrow-sweetened clearness... 


Christian Morgenstern/ Translated by Walter A. Aue

Temptation - Ella Lapointe



I stood upon the cliff's edge, still,

and looked below and spoke alone.

"Off and away, immortal one!

it costs a single word, 'I will'.


A God sleeps here, a God wakes there -

Off then and sleep!" your spirit bade.

"it is but form you give in trade,

no moment do you lose your core..."


- My day work is not done. It waits.

Whoever tears the husk aside

before the seed is ripe inside -

he goes to sleep too soon - and wakes-

too late.


C. Morgenstern/ Translated by Theodore Van Vliet



Eve of Spring

The leafless poplars stand as slender things,

so slim and fine as twilight's dun unfurls.

Blackbirds trill joyous, pure as mountain springs,

and wond'rous-waiting, breathless rests the world.


The wraithlike cloud, all heaviness and wet,

draws shade across the still unstarlit scene,

greys over in the fading west's rosette,

the peaks and vales - a crumpled, drunken dream.


C. Morgenstern/ Translated by Theodore Van Vliet