I pray to Boreas, god of the shrill north wind,
god of the winter; from your glacial halls
in the heights of Thrace you come to us each year,
bringing the bitter chill, the knife-sharp sleet,
the shivering cold, the blinding white skies.
Father of slim-ankled Khione, maid of the snows
whose hand it is that frosts the tender grasses,
I call to you. O Boreas of the violet wings,
grant to us a season mild and free of harm,
bringer of the gales of winter, grant to us
a season safe. Ward us as we walk the black ice,
keep us from the storm, O Boreas, I pray to you.