Norlandets Digter! Dig Saga indvied,
Indtil Du kom, har Norges Land tiet,
Blicher og Winther og Hertz der har runget,
Dn først fra Fjeldet som Normand har sjunget.
Norge har sande Digtere nu!
Ingen saa nordisk har sjunget som Du.
En Sommerluftning, frisk som den fra Havet,
Og dog med Bøg- og Birke-Duft begavet,
Gaaer ud fra dine Ungdoms-, Manddoms-Qvad,
Saa styrkende! — Det er et Aandens Bad!
Et Folkesagn igjennem Slægter lever,
Det I sig selv har Magt mod Tidens Haand,
Dit Folkesagn til Skjønheds Digt sig hæver,
Det lever ved sin Poesi og Aand!
A birdie with a yellow bill
Hopped upon my window sill,
Cocked his shining eye and said:
"Ain't you 'shamed, you sleepy-head!"
'Tis because, though in dusky bower,
With love delighted still thou art;
Nor hath the deepening twilight power
To lay a curfew on thy heart.
Thou lovest; and, loving, dost prolong
The sense of sunlight with thy song.
There's an art of knowing when.
Never try to guess.
Toast until it smokes and then
twenty seconds less.
Time-servers are the cowering slaves of slaves,
Alone on earth, who serves the Lord is free,
Each soul shall win the gift that it most craves;
Seek God, my soul -- God shall your portion be!
Based on the translation by Solomon Solis-Cohen that's reproduced on pages 376-377 of A Treasury of Jewish Poetry: From Biblical Times to the Present, edited by Nathan and Marynn Ausubel (Crown Publishers, 1957).
I willed my love to dream of me last night, that we might lie
at peace, if not beneath a single sheet, under one sky.
I dreamed of her but she could not alas humour my will;
it struck me suddenly that where she was was daylight still.
Time is
Too Slow for those who Wait,
Too Swift for those who Fear,
Too Long for those who Grieve,
Too Short for those who Rejoice;
But for those who Love,
Time is not.
It was my shame, and now it is my boast,
That I have loved you rather more than most.
