Græshoppen
Græshoppen
sidder paa Engen
I Sommerens
Aftenskjær.
Synger han
Elskovsviser
Alt for sin
Hjertenskjær?
Sangfugl
han ligner dog ikke:
Kun Vinger
til Stads han fik.
Spillemand
i det Grønne!
Hvormed
gjør du Musik?
Siig! – er
du Fiolinisten
I Oberons
Hofkapel?
Han svarer
med høie Toner,
Det klinger
som: ja vel!
Ivrigt han
stryger Fiolen
Og nikker
paa Blomsterstol
Benet er
Fiddelbuen
Og Vingen
hans Fiol.
The grasshopper
Grasshopper
sits in the meadow
In summer’s
warm evening glow.
Can he be
singing love songs
That to his
sweetheart go?
Songbird
one scarcely can call him:
His wings do
nought but adorn.
Tell me, al
fresco fiddler,
Just how’s
your music born?
Say! – are
you court violinist
In Oberon’s
fairy band?
With
high-pitched notes he answers,
It sounds
like: Yes, that grand!
Keenly he
strokes on his fiddle
And nods on
his flowery spring,
His leg as
bow employing,
He fiddles
on his wing.
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