Stroll in the Cervin
The Swiss venerate their great lord of the snows,
Silhouette unusual and solitary over the valley of the Vispa,
The Matterhorn, this sharp tooth stoking vista,
Fascinates experienced mountain climbers defying its traps.
At the foot of its slopes the larches point their buds
Above the austere and wild meadows populated by neve,
In the kingdom of bear grapes and purplish pulsatiles,
Close to gentianes with the nice frimousse and wild crocuses,
In the undergrowth, coniferous bushes give way to the carpet of blueberries,
Lower, marmots and sheep share the trolls in joyful drills,
Under the gaze of centenary arches with trunks tortured by age,
Sometimes used by natives as wood for dressing.
In the mazes of the scree the mountaineers draw their materials
To clothe their dwellings with blocks of stone with blue dots,
In this corner of the Valais dotted with ancestral wooden chalets,
Where mazots on stilts were used to store rye in summer.
In this environment where the sound of waterfalls wins
On the tinkling of the clarines, the torrents rush down the sacred mountain,
Accompanying young people in search of love and fidelity
Bewitched by the contemplation of the Matterhorn and her escort.