Adam Gottlob Oehlenschlaeger

Where are you now, you roses red
From days of youth so blissful?
I keep your petals long since shed
...

LULLABY, little Love,
Slumber sweetly, slumber deep,
Though your cradle will not move,
I shall lull you, Child, to sleep.
...

Betragt mit svage spind,
hvor trådene sig flette.
Den allermindste vind
kan alt i hast udslette.
...

See Nordlys lue
med röde Flammer,
paa sorten Bue.
Hör Storme brage,
...

Der er et yndigt land,
det står med brede bøge,
nær salten Østerstrand;
det bugter sig i bakke, dal,
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Fra kvalmfulde mure!
til marken så huld!
Dér pløjede fure
har ydet sit guld.
...

Underlige aftenlufte!
Hvorhen vinker i min hu?
Milde, lune blomsterfudte!
Sig hvor hen I bølge nu.
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I skyggen vi vanke
blandt lysgrønne strå,
sankthansurt vi sanke,
hvor blomsterne stå.
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Lær mig, o skov, at visne glad
som sent i høst dit gule blad,
et bedre forår kommer.
...

To the holy beechwood, gently thou
Hast beckoned me;
O Earth ! where never the heavy plough
Had furrowed thee.
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Ved gamle borg
i kolde mose
stod tavs i sorg
den røde rose.
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Skøn jomfru! luk dit vindue op,
her er din hjertenskær.
Bleg månen stander på himlens blå,
mildt nattergalene triller slå.
...

BEHIND black woods the pale
Moonlight is sifting.
To God the nightingale
Her song is lifting.
...

THE day is tranquil, quietly exalted,
High rises her abode, green flower-vaulted,
Light winged butterflies bend the new grasses,
...

FROM stuffy, dark houses
Out over the wold
Where the ploughed furrow drowses
In a haze of gold
...

They peer in pages
of ancient sages,
on opened barrows
their gaze now narrows,
...

EACH year when vapours melt and wane,
Child Jesus Christ is born again;
The Angel in air, in grove, in sea,
...

There is a charming land
Where grow the wide-armed beeches
By the salt eastern Strand.
Old Denmark, so we call
...