Skærgaardsø
Nu glider Baaden
mot Skærgaardsøen,
en Ø i Havet
med grønne Strande.
Her lever Blomster
for ingens Øjne,
de staar saa fremmed
og ser mig lande.
Mit Hjærte blir som
en Fabelhave
med samme Blomster
som Øen ejer.
De taler sammen
og hvisker sælsomt,
som Børn de mødes
og ler og nejer.
Her var jeg kanske
i Tidens Morgen
som hvit Spiræa
engang at finde.
Jeg kender Duften
igen fra fordum,
jeg skælver midt i
et gammelt Minde.
Mit Øje lukkes,
en fjærn Erindring
har lagt mit Hode
ned til min Skulder.
Saa tætner Natten
ind over Øen,
kun Havet buldrer –
Nirvanas Bulder.
Skerry
The boat’s now gliding
towards the skerry,
a sea-set island
its shores green banding.
Wild flowers grow here for
no eyes intended
stand unfamiliar
and watch me landing.
My heart becomes like
a fabled garden
with flowers the same as
the ones I’m greeting.
They talk together
and whisper strangely,
with nods and smiling
like children meeting.
Perhaps long since I
have here existed
as white spiraea
in first perfection.
I recognise now
that far-off fragrance,
and tremble slightly
in recollection
I close my eyelids,
a distant memory
towards my shoulder
my head is drawing.
The night grows denser
about the island,
the sea alone roars –
Nirvana’s roaring.
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