O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden,
Voll Schmerz und voller Hohn,
O Haupt, zum Spott gebunden
Mit einer Dornenkron,
O Haupt, sonst schön gezieret
Mit höchster Ehr und Zier,
Jetzt aber hoch schimpfieret:
Gegrüßet seist du mir!
O head, blood-streaked, sore wounded,
In pain and put to scorn,
To mockery unbounded
Decked with a crown of thorn,
O head, adorned but lately
With honours unsurpassed,
Now sworn and cursed at greatly:
I welcome you at last!
Wenn ich einmal soll scheiden,
So scheide nicht von mir,
Wenn ich den Tod soll leiden,
So tritt du denn herfür!
Wenn mir am allerbängsten
Wird um das Herze sein,
So reiß mich aus den Ängsten
Kraft deiner Angst und Pein.
When my time comes for parting,
Part not from me, I pray,
When pangs of death start smarting,
Close by my side then stay!
When fearfulness would seize me
And would my heart constrain,
From all these fears then free me,
Through Thine own fear and pain.
Årstiderne
Vasketøj vajer for vinden.
Småbørn får knopper på kinden.
Piger bli'r drillet
og fodbold bli'r spillet
for nu er det sommer i Danmark.
Dagene falder så dystre.
Skolebørn vil ikke lystre.
Tøj blir forældet
og tårer blir fældet
for efterår er det i Danmark.
Skilsmisser. Dødsfald. Romaner.
Hoste og nedfrosne planer.
Næsen blir dryppet
og tuden blir dyppet
for nu er det vinter i Danmark.
Blomster på eng og i potte.
Banket blir mangen en måtte.
Plæner blir sået
og digte forstået
for nu er det forår i Danmark.
The seasons
Washing can flap while its drying.
Young kids get spots that are trying.
Girls must take teasing
and football’s unceasing
for now it is summer in Denmark.
Days now seem shorter and gloomy.
Schoolkids unruly and rheumy.
Clothes get outdated
tears flow unabated
for now it is autumn in Denmark.
Deaths. New divorces. Long novels.
Plans in cold storage and snuffles.
Noses start dripping
and schnozzles start dipping
for now it is winter in Denmark.
Flowers bloom in meadows or vases.
Beating of mats all surpasses.
Paths are regravelled
and poems unravelled
for now it is springtime in Denmark.
Aube
Un invisible oiseau dans l’air pur a chanté.
Le ciel d’aube est d’un bleu suave et velouté.
C'est le premier oiseau qui s'éveille et qui chante.
Ecoute! les jardins sont frémissants d'attente.
Ecoute! Un autre nid s'éveille, un autre nid,
Et c’est un pépiement éperdu qui jaillit.
Qui chante le premier? Nul ne le sait. C’est l’aurore.
Comme un abricot mur, le ciel pâli se dore.
Qui chante le premier? Qu’importe? On a chanté.
Et c’est un beau matin de l'immortel été.
Dawn
A bird has sung above, in clear air, out of view.
The dawn sky has a sheen of smooth and velvet blue.
It is the first of all the birds to wake and sing.
Hark, hark! The waiting gardens quiver at its ring.
Hark, hark! Another nest awakes, and yet one more,
Their frenzied chirping notes gush forth and upwards soar.
Who sings first? There’s no knowing. Dawn comes as of old.
Like apricots that ripen, the pale sky turns gold.
Who sings first? It’s no matter. For there now is song –
Immortal summer’s lovely morning won’t be long.
L’aube paisible
L’harmonieux silence erre au fouillis des branches
Et dans l’immense paix d’un matin du dimanche,
Calme extatiquement,
Rien qu’un envol de cloche au fond du firmament.
L’aurore a suspendu sa luisante mantille
Sur le potager bleu où, traînant sa coquille,
S’attarde l’escargot
Zébrant d’argent mouillé les feuilles des pavots.
Les lierres enlacés aux murs qui les étayent,
Répandent leur parfum qu’exaspéra la nuit,
Et les pêchers s’éveillent
Déployant leur fraîcheur où l’abeille bruit.
Un chat muettement, plissant ses yeux de jade,
Glisse à travers les haricots et les salades.
Calme extatiquement,
Le vieux jardin repose au mol égouttement
Des cloches dans l’espace. Et parmi sa glycine,
La maison qu’un trait rose au bord du ciel dessine,
Sur le verger dormant
Ouvre, aux frais angelus, portes et contrevents.
The peaceful dawn
Among the tangled branches sweet-toned silence strays
And in the vast peace of a Sunday morning haze,
Ecstatically calm,
Nothing but fleeting chimes at heaven’s outer arm.
Over blue kitchen gardens has Aurora draped
Her gleaming mantle where, trailing its own shell’s weight,
The snail rests for a time
From streaking leaves of poppies with its silver slime.
The twining ivy, held by walls no wind can shake,
Spills out its pungent scent that irked night constantly,
And now the peach trees wake,
Spreading their freshness out where bees hum noisily.
Quite silently a cat, with narrowed eyes of jade,
Slides through the lettuces and beans in total shade.
Ecstatically calm,
The age-old garden’s resting in the soothing balm
Of bells that drift through space. And midst wisteria,
Pink-traced against the sky, the house exterior
– While still the orchard snores –
Opens to this Angelus shutters and closed doors.
Le verger
La blancheur de ces fleurs follement entassées,
A travers les blancheurs grises du firmament,
Ton musical égouttement, blanche rosée,
Et les pas de la nuit au lointain s'enfuyant.
C'est l'aube, mais pourtant rien encor ne s'éveille:
A peine au fond du ciel de trembleuses lueurs;
Le verger faible et doux entre mes bras sommeille,
Je le sens tout entier incliné vers mon cœur.
Quand le printemps répand son immortel soupir
Et que la solitude et du silence abondent,
A cette heure surtout, mon affamé désir
Te recherche, beauté suprême, âme du monde;
Je te pénètre un peu. Je perçois des accents;
Mon oreille est plus claire en mon être... et je sens
Qu'un dieu repose en moi qui n'est pas encor né.
15 mai 1907.
The orchard
The whiteness of these madly heaped-up flowers, seen through
The greyish whiteness of the firmament’s new day,
Your musical soft-falling droplets of white dew,
And footsteps of the distant night that flees away –
Nothing is yet astir though dawn now gathers pace,
At heaven’s rim the trembling gleamings almost start;
The orchard, faint and soft, still sleeps in my embrace,
I feel it totally inclined towards my heart.
When spring spreads far and wide its great immortal sigh
And solitude and silence fully are unfurled,
Especially then, with famished strong desire do I
Seek you, beauty unrivalled, soul of the whole world;
I enter you just slightly. Accents are intense,
My ear is keener and my being… And I sense
A god lies deep within me that is not yet born.
15 May 1907.
