Strofer i Tusmørket
Skumringsstunder. Lune Aftener. Nattetimer.
Lad os tale, medens alting bliver stille: vi har mer at tale om.
Ræk mig endnu dine Hænder, naar du synes, vi skal tie,
de er hvide, de er milde, deres Tryk en venlig Dom.
Hører du i Nabolaget Port og Døre lukkes i?
Og det graaner saa fortroligt om os, til vi intet ser
uden dig og mig, der svulmer som en dobbelt Melodi,
vakt til Liv, mens Aftenfreden gør dig stum ved dit Klaver.
Skal vi vandre ned i Haven til det gode tyste Bord
midt paa Plænen under Asken, hvor i Skjul saa mange Gange
jeg har siddet lunt og lyttet til den sommervarme Jord,
munter med min slukte Pibe, medens Mulmet rundt om gror,
og du skimted næppe Bordet, naar du bragte mig mit Glas,
som jeg tømte under Træet, øm og frydefuld tilpas.
Skumringsstunder, lune Aftener, Nattetimer.
Har du set, at det nye Skud paa Rosen, det har skudt igen i Dag —?
Stryg en Tændstik og se efter — — Se, vor Have er beredt,
selv i Mørke har vi Roser, selv i Tavshed Velbehag.
Twilight verses
Dusk is falling. Balmy evenings. Nighttime hours in store.
Let us talk while all grows quiet: more talk between us would be fine.
Reach out your hands when the need for silence outweighs talk yet more,
they are white and they are gentle and their squeeze a well-meant sign.
Can you hear the neighbours’ gates and doors be shut as dusk arrives?
With greyness darkening until all that’s seen is you and me,
who seem like a two-part melody to swell and come alive,
while you sit silent in this calm at untouched piano keys.
Let us go down to the good quiet garden table yet again
under the mid-lawn ash tree, where I have sat in evening’s glow,
concealed and cosy, listening to rewarmed earth in summer’s reign,
cheerful with my unlit pipe, while the gloaming around us grows,
and you hardly glimpsed the table when you came out with my glass,
which I drained beneath the tree, in fond and gleeful mood at last.
Dusk is falling. Balmy evenings. Soon the hours of night.
The rose’s new shoot, have you seen it? – one more has come today.
Just strike a match and take a look –– See, our garden’s quite prepared,
Even in darkness we have roses, in silence joy holds sway.
No comments:
Post a Comment