Short Poems

Should they whisper false of you.
Never trouble to deny;
Should the words they say be true,
Weep and storm and swear they lie.

Sunk in melancholy, and
Gazing
Upon the moon: its hue:
Why is it so deeply
Stained with sadness, I wonder

How do you do ? mon coeur a faim
De votre regard qui dédaigne ;
Et depuis l'autre jour il saigne,

I envy not these sumptuous obsequies,
The stately car, the purple canopies;
Much better pleased am I, remaining here,
With cheaper equipage, and better cheer.
A couch of thorns, or an embroidered bed,
Are matters of indifference to the dead.

summer picnic~
kids get their hands scratched
hunting wild berries
...

Summer night--
even the stars
are whispering to each other.


Translated by Robert Hass

Summer looked for long am I:
Much shall change or e'er I die.
Prithee take it not amiss
Though I weary thee with bliss.

Every love's the love before
In a duller dress.
That's the measure of my lore-
Here's my bitterness:
Would I knew a little more,
Or very much less!

The best ideal is the true
And other truth is none.
All glory be ascribèd to
The holy Three in One.

Smerte! hvi forgiæves beder du?
Eene mildt bønhørte Bønner læge!

„Ak! saa længe Hiertet slaaer endnu,
Ubønhørte selv det vederqvæge."