Short Poems

At efter Lov og Regler ei du skriver,
Beviser vel, din Digtekunst er frie;
Men at du selv i Digten ingen giver,
Mon ogsaa det er Kunstgenie?

Beyond the brown hill
Above the silent cedars,
Blackbirds flee the April rains.

The River Chu cuts through the middle of heaven's gate,
The green water flowing east reaches here then swirls.
On either bank the blue hills face towards each other,
The flatness of a lonely sail comes from by of the sun.

Jeg elsker Alt, som har med Dig en Liighed -
Høstnattens Maane, Skovens Rosengreen.
Den haarde Steen selv kysser jeg med Andagt,
Fordi dit Hjerte er saa haardt som Steen.

Ved Husets Muur stod en Hæk af Geranier,
Der sad hun paa Trappens Marmorsteen,
Saa ung, saa deilig, hun solgte Kastanier,
Sad med Blomst i Haaret og med bare Been.
Hun saae med to Livsens Øine paa En,
Var man ei en Iismand, strax blev man en Spanier.

Ved ham, for hvem at Stenen brast for Graven,
Ved ham hold fast i Lykke, Sorg og Savn!
Da gaaer Du sikkert som i Barndoms-Haven,
— Vor hele Vej fra Vuggen og til Graven
Er fra en Moders til en Faders Favn.

Her males Mel, her males Vand,
her males Daarskab og Forstand
tilbage til den store Strand.

'I've found the secret of your charm,' I said,
Expounding with complacency my guess.
Alas! the charm, even as I named it, fled,
For all its secret was unconsciousness.

A two-faced man is more venomous
Than the snake with two fangs.

Bitten by a snake.
One can withdraw the venom.
Bitten by a man,
That's the end.

Allegra, rising from her canopied dreams,
Slides both white feet across the slanted beams
Which lace the peacock jalousies: behold
An idol of fine clay, with feet of gold