 |
| From the collection 'Sne' (1901) |
Foraarsregn
Det regner over Mosen,
saa mildt og blødt, saa fint og tæt,
et Regnvejr graat af Grøde,
en Livsens Dug, der lindt og let
mod Jordens Hjærte rinder.
Som smaa Krystaller perler
i Kabelejers gyldne Fang
de vædeblanke Draaber,
og Slaaentjørnens Tornehang
i snehvidt Knopbrud skinner.
Det gule Græs, de spinkle,
de silkefine brune Rør
i Regnen lydløst bæver,
og Spindelvævets Sølverslør
om Straa sig draabet vinder.
Det regner over Mosen,
saa stille gaaer den Dag sin Gang,
en enlig Smaafugl pipper
og løfter kvidrende sin Sang
imedens Regnen rinder.
Spring rain
The rain falls on the marshes,
so fine and steady, mild and soft,
a rain that’s grey with growing,
a dew of life, that from aloft
towards earth’s heart is streaming
Like crystal pearls so tiny
within marsh marigolds’ embrace
the droplets’ glossy moisture,
and blackthorn leaves with coated glaze
midst snow-white buds are gleaming.
The yellow grass, the fragile,
the silky brown stems of the reeds
are silently aquiver,
and cobwebs’ silver veils like beads
twine round the blades now greening.
The rain falls on the marshes,
the day so quietly moves along,
a single small bird’s cheeping
and now it chirps its springtime song
while down the rain is streaming.
No comments:
Post a Comment