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Schack von Staffeldt


Blomsterne


Og over Engen
Jeg eensom gaaer
Og Harpestrængen
Med Længsel slaaer;
De Klippestene
Bevæge sig,
I Lundens Grene
Det svarer mig.

Bjergkløften gjælder
Saa veemodsfuld,
Af Gruben vælder
Det gamle Guld;
De Blomster bæve
Og hilse mig,
Og alle hæve
Paa Stilken sig.

For stedse spæde,
De være maae
Naturens Glæde
Og hendes Smaa:
Ved hendes Bryster,
Endnu som før,
Med rene Lyster
De die tør.

I hver en Stængel
Indlukket boer
En barnlig Engel,
Et Himmelnor;
Og naar i Tiden
Den Blomst forgaaer,
En Engel liden
Af den opstaaer.

De synes trænge
Sig venligt nær,
Som om de længe
Mig havde kjær,
Som om de vilde
Ved Farvespil
Mit Savn formilde,
Mig tale til.

Thi ak! den Alder,
Som Skjalden end
Med Længsel kalder
Omsonst igjen,
Endnu den hviler,
Den skjønne Tid,
Og standset smiler
I Blomsten blid.

Det, som ham tryller,
Fra Vaar til Vaar,
I Blomsterhyller
Fremarvet gaaer:
Hvert Frø bevarer
Hiint første end,
Men aabenbarer
Det ei igjen.

Ja Blomster spæde
Min Sang forstaae,
Om Natten græde
De Taarer smaa,
At Uskylds Dage,
Ak! kun hos dem
Endnu tilbage
Beholdt et Hjem.

Mod mig de hige
Saa nær, saa nær,
De ville sige
Hvad svundet er;
Men ak! de ikke
Tør sige hvad,
Thi kun de nikke
Med løftet Blad.

Thi kun de bæve
Og hilse mig,
Og alle hæve
Paa Stilken sig,
Naar over Engen
Jeg eensom gaaer
Og Harpestrængen
Med Længsel slaaer.

Submitted: Friday, June 22, 2012
Edited: Friday, June 22, 2012

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