A party finished,
The room now grey,
The girls vanished,
Fiddler away.
A ghost melody
Sneaks inside me:

I’ve been glad
All my born days,
Always had
Girls on my arm,
Danced with the sweet,
Danced with the sad
– Mazurka.

I’ve been warm as
Mid-summer’s sun,
I’ve been cold as
The winter gone.
So round you go
Till the cock will crow.

Boys are old men,
Old men grey.
Downhill then
And west as the day.
The dance I danced
I hoard within.
– Mazurka.

-Einar Skjæraasen
Translated from Norwegian by Micheal O’Siadhail