See, Hørren staaer saa slank og fri
See, Hørren staaer saa slank og fri,
Hvor blomstrer hele Flokken!
Hver Klokke der har Melodi,
Men uden Knevl er Klokken;
Du hører ei dens »ding, ding, dang!«
Nei, ikke nu – men først engang,
Naar Hørren ret har lidt og stridt,
Og ligger som Papiret hvidt; –
En Tonemester paa det slaaer,
En Fjer er Troldomsstaven,
Hvad Blomsten følte, synligt staaer,
I Klang det fra Papiret gaaer,
Liv svinger sig fra Graven.
See, how the flax stands slim and free
See, how the flax stands slim and free,
Its bell-shaped flower host swishing,
Each bell there has its melody,
The clanger though is missing;
You do not hear its ‘ding, ding, dong!’
No, silent must remain its song
Until the flax has fought its fight,
And as blank paper lies there white; –
A tonal wizard weaves his spell,
A feather touch his playing,
Each sensed tone held within its shell
As paper is a sounding bell
That from its grave comes swaying.
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