Johannes Carsten Hauch Poems

Det er paa Tiden, bort jeg vandre maa,
Den blege Død har lammet mine Kræfter,
Det dunkle Eventyr jeg skal bestaae,
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When they thought that Denmark's king
Soundly in the graveyard slumbered,
Words incredible, unnumbered,
Through the land crept whispering.
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WHEN happiness turns from you,
And all seems unrepaid,
And you are scorned by enemies,
Even by friends betrayed;
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Oh you who weep, brush all your tears aside!
And you who mourn, recall grief won’t abide!
For you’ll know rest when your heart beats no more,
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I remember a far place, where I would gladly be;
There, hours glided slowly, silently,
As clear as silver pearls, strung on a golden wire,
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We are the nightly weavers
who gather the invisible threads
from the Milky Way's outmost ring
where the end of the loom stands.
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