Short Poems

For korte Dage
for megen Plage.
Ved Livets Fest
er jeg kun Gæst.

The new world honors him whose lofty plea
For England's freedom made her own more sure,
Whose song, immortal as its theme, shall be
Their common freehold while both worlds endure.

So bright a gleam on the foot of my bed
Could there have been a frost already?
Lifting myself to look, I found that it was moonlight.
Sinking back again, I thought suddenly of home.

A stone's throw out on either hand
From that well-ordered road we tread,
And all the world is wild and strange;
Churel and ghoul and Djinn and sprite
Shall bear us company to-night,
For we have reached the Oldest Land
Wherein the powers of Darkness range.

That only lasts an hour
How much — how little — is
Within our power

When all the things you need to do
remain
all the things you need to do.

Giem Steen — Giem Præget af vort Bryst,
At Evighedens Børn maae lære
Vort Nordens Roes — dets Held, dets Lyst,
Vor Tak — og JULIANES Ære!

Tøm mit runde Guld med Lyst!
I Olympens høje Sæde
Blev jeg, Guderne til Glæde,
Formet paa Cytheres Bryst.

When Grandmamma fell off the boat,
And couldn’t swim, and wouldn’t float,
Maria just sat by and smiled -
I almost could have slapped the child!

O mia Luna! Porta mi fortuna!
(You must say it nine times, curtseying, and then wish.)
In rose-pale, fading blue of twilight sky,
See, the new moon's thin crescent shining clear;
Nine times I'll curtsey murmuring mystic words, -
And wish good fortune to our love, my dear.