Short Poems

I love my hour of wind and light,
I love men's faces and their eyes,
I love my spirit's veering flight
Like swallows under evening skies.

Hver Tanke gaaer fra Hjertet ud,
Som Stjerner de oprinde,
Men Solen, (Tanken om din Gud),
I den de alle svinde.

Hos Ordets Polyper Du ikke gaaer fri,
Du brændes paa Troens Ex-Kalkbrænderi,
Med Vid Du os sagde, at Pletter er' Pletter -
Du ligned' i meget Voltaire — Din Fætter.

Synger, Himmel, Jord og Hav!
Priser ham, Som Alt os gav!
Kiærlighed med Mund og Haand,
Fader, Søn og Hellig-Aand!

SWIFT has sailed into his rest;
Savage indignation there
Cannot lacerate his breast.
Imitate him if you dare,
World-besotted traveller; he
Served human liberty.

Take heart again. Joy may be lost awhile.
It is not always Spring.
And even now from some far Summer Isle
Hither the birds may wing.

Swift and sure the swallow,
Slow and sure the snail:
Slow and sure may miss his way,
Swift and sure may fail.

The rain has spoiled the farmer's day;
Shall sorrow put my books away?
Thereby are two days lost:
Nature shall mind her own affairs,
I will attend my proper cares,
In rain, or sun, or frost.

Af Fire var ingen den anden uliig;
Af Fire Ducater blev Staaderen riig;
Af Fire Ducater svant Ryg-Vee og Værk;
Her ydes da 1000 Tak af et Skrog;
Der nu er Sex eet med sin Ryg og sit Sprog.

Taking a nap,
feet planted
against a cool wall.


Translated by Robert Hass