The Ballad of the White Glow by Itzik Manger
“You’ve grieved enough, my daughter dear,
You’ve mourned enough, your woe.”
“Mother, see, in the depth of night—
A cool, white glow.”
“It’s a will-o’-the-wisp, my daughter,
A will-o’-the-wisp, be sure.
May it always wander the empty fields
And come here nevermore.”
“It cannot be a will-o’-the-wisp,
It may not be false fire,
Because my heart, in that cool glow,
Is throbbing with desire.”
“Say your prayer, my daughter.
I cannot understand—”
“Mother, the white glow calling me
Calls from the beyond.
What shall I say to my urgent heart?
Shall I refuse to go?
If it is my heart calling,
Shall I answer, “No?”
The storm is blowing out of doors,
Outside there whirls the snow.
“Wait one moment more, white light.
One moment and I’ll go.”
Quickly, quickly, she takes up
Her little crimson shawl.
Her own blood is a brighter red—
The look of death is pale.
Long, long at the windowpane
Her mother sees her go,
Until the virgin silhouette
Fades in the pallid glow.
Darkling, I Listen 