Short Poems

Vi vil' ei sige mange Ord,
Ei hykle eller prale,
Seer Hjertet glad Guds skjønne Jord,
Vi høre Dig at tale.

Du leged' glad bag Skovens grønne Grene,
Og der sad Vid i Smilet paa din Kind;
Da kyssed' Dig den høie Melpomene,
Og lulled' Dig i Heltedrømme ind;
Med Smiil og Graad Du saae paa Tidens Strøm,
Og William Shakspeare sang Du i din Drøm.

Hen ad den nøgne Kyst de Bølger trille,
Forstaaer Du Vandrer deres dybe Chor:
Der var en Tid, Corsøer var meget lille,
Men Baggesen blev født, og den blev stor."

Jack was a swarthy, swaggering son-of-a-gun.
He worked thirty years on the railroad, ten hours a day, and his hands were tougher than sole leather.
He married a tough woman and they had eight children and the woman died and the children grew up and went away and wrote the old man every two years.
He died in the poorhouse sitting on a bench in the sun telling reminiscences to other old men whose women were dead and children scattered.

A fountain of our sweetest, quick to spring
In fellowship abounding, here subsides:
And never passage of a cloud on wing
To gladden blue forgets him; near he hides.

Our Islet out of Helgoland, dismissed
From his quaint tenement, quits hates and loves.
There lived with us a wagging humourist
In that hound's arch dwarf-legged on boxing-gloves.

'For he rides hard to dull the pain,
Who rides from him who loves him best;
But he rides slowly home again,
Whose restless heart must rove for rest.'

“Dry scrub and dusty clearing
The long, hot, drowsy day;
The land line ever nearing
And ever far away.

189

It's such a little thing to weep—
So short a thing to sigh—
And yet—by Trades—the size of these
We men and women die!

ડુંગર જાણે ડાચાં ફાડે !
જોગી જાણે ગુફા ઉઘાડે !
જમરાજાનું દ્વાર ઉઘાડે !
પૃથ્વીનું પાતાળ ઉઘાડે !
બરછી સરખા દાંત બતાવે
લસ ! લસ ! કરતા જીભ ઝુલાવે