Poem by the Norwegian poet Olav Nygaard (1884-1924)

Now evening rises

Now evening rises at the western edge

through farmhouse yards his way he lightly treads,

hangs mountains inbetween with muted shading.

Through scrub and heather whispering’s heard soon

and as it sings the throstle changes tune

with twilight tremolo its call pervading.

But firmly of his steed’s reins day takes hold

puts on his great cloak etched with seams of gold

twixt far horizons hurries at light’s closing.

A breeze moves through cool vale and mountain side

where shadow’s waiting for the night, his bride

and swooning in his dreams of love is dozing.

And breathing gently night then enters in

with dark locks round her neck and cheek’s smooth skin

and shawl of elfine mists that swirl so lightly.

And dulcet tones, th’aeolian harp’s sweet charms,

rise shyly like a girl from mother’s arms

and float in cool realms light of foot and sprightly.

A quiv’ring bliss is felt twixt mountains tall

so seed starts growing, skins are sloughed and fall

and eyes turn upwards dazed by some great wonder:

from deepest heav’n sounds swell’s surge full and strong,

the endless urge to procreate, spheres’ song

that greets as kinsfolk those dark shores far yonder.

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