Bliv ved, bliv ved, med Klokkerne at kime!
Synk, arme Folk, hen i din Afmagts Lænke!
Selv i en Liigfærds stille Alvorstime
Vil man, at du skal gloe, og ikke tænke.
a blazing sky ~
I look at the eagles
still flying high
...
an eve in the hills ~
blackbirds in the bushes
mimicking...
...
Black riders came from the sea.
There was clang and clang of spear and shield,
And clash and clash of hoof and heel,
Wild shouts and the wave of hair
In the rush upon the wind:
Thus the ride of sin.
Black on the depths of blackest skies
whence even the levin seems withdrawn,
the cities threaten: burning eyes
ask what dread hand hath slain the dawn.
Black light of the dead
In the middle of it, I alone of a kind.
Blach hair
Tangled in a thousand strands.
Tangled my hair and
Tangled my tangled memories
Of our long nights of love making.
Bibelens Job ham kjender Du vel?
Vennernes Ord slog ham ikke ihjel,
Skrabed' tilblods kun som Potteskaar,
Saa der stod Ar til de seneste Aar,
Mærker herom, saa dybe og stærke:
Verset her, — det er ogsaa et Mærke!
O my faithful Friend!
O early chosen, ever found the same,
And trusted and beloved! once more the verse
Long destin'd, always obvious to thine ear,
Attend indulgent.
I suspect the Kookaburra,
For his methods are not thorough
In his highly-praised campaign against the snakes,
And the small birds, one and all,
Curse him for a cannibal
Though he certainly is cheerful when he wakes.
