Naar Verden meer ei lytter til din Sang,
Vil jeg henrykkes ved din Læbes Klang.
Naar Ungdoms Smilet svinder fra din Mund,
Jeg seer det dog i Øiets dybe Grund.
Din Sjæl er stor, dit Hjerte er saa rigt.
Hvad gjemmer Du om mig? — Et gammelt Digt.
Crimson is the slow smolder of the cigar end I hold,
Gray is the ash that stiffens and covers all silent the fire.
(A great man I know is dead and while he lies in his coffin a gone flame I sit here in cumbering shadows and smoke and watch my thoughts come and go.)
God dreamed-the suns sprang flaming into place,
And sailing worlds with many a venturous race!
He woke-His smile alone illumined space.
No more the swindler singly seeks his prey;
To hunt in couples is the modern way
A rascal, from the public to purloin,
An honest man to hide away the coin.
'By good men's prayers see Grant restored!'
Shouts Talmage, pious creature!
Yes, God, by supplication bored
From every droning preacher,
Exclaimed: 'So be it, tiresome crew
But I've a crow to pick with you.'
You ask why I nestle in the green mountains.
I laugh but answer not - my heart is serene.
Peach blossoms and flowing waters go without a trace.
There is another Heaven and Earth beyond the world of man.
Currants on a bush,
And figs upon a stem,
And cherries on a bending bough,
And Ned to gather them.
Crimson curtains round my mother's bed,
Silken soft as may be;
Cool white curtains round about my bed,
For I am but a baby.
447
Could—I do more—for Thee—
Wert Thou a Bumble Bee—
Since for the Queen, have I—
Nought but Bouquet?
220
Could I—then—shut the door—
Lest my beseeching face—at last—
Rejected—be—of Her?
