Froyen

As dreamer, I made up a lovely dream
So very clear, so sunny,
That I myself became convinced, it seems,
I saw him as before.
And my dream unassuming and so modest
Was a corner, a wall and a roof,
I was pleased with my dream and its happy bequest,
So why did they laugh at my truth?
Our living goes by in such loneliness,
The best moments in gloom, —
How long ago was it — I ask of you,
Like other people too?

Women, you have been born in angry hours,
A time when fear walks in your every step,
In heavy chains your life is kept.
Sisters! upon your shoulders burdens pressing:
When weariness and pain is all you see,
A mother you still have to be.

Now hidden and forbidden is your joy
Woven through years,
Strange and defiled
The hope, the joy
Of your own dearest child.
Children, you are like little lambs, like cattle,
You carry burdens large for your young years,
Your thoughts like elders laced with fears.

At dawn the city lies in rest and sleep,
The night on windows hanging.
And somewhere high on rooftops that are free
The pigeons start to coo.
But you’re marching, tightly marching, in columns,
As if in iron chains you were bound,
And on pavement so hard wooden shoes now resound
As they echo far, far, on the street.
And not by us on soft and silky sheets
Lie pampered women sleeping.
While tired eyes outside now close and cry,
Not understanding why.

Women, you have been born in angry hours,
A time when fear walks in your every step,
In heavy chains your life is kept.
Sisters! upon your shoulders burdens pressing:
When weariness and pain is all you see,
A mother you still have to be.

Now hidden and forbidden is your joy,
Woven through years,
Strange and defiled
The hopes, the cheer
Of your own dearest child.
Women, these angry times will surely vanish
And for our woes, our heartache and our pain
A hope for us will still remain.