Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson Poems

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A Meeting

… O'er uplands fresh swift sped my sleigh…
A light snow fell; along the way
Stood firs and birches slender.

The White Rose And The Red Rose

The white rose and the red rose,
So sisters two were named, yes, named.
The white one was so quiet,


Give us, God, to Thee now turning,
Fullness of joy, tears full and burning,
Of will the full refining fire!
Hear our prayer o'er his inurning:

To My Father (Upon His Retirement)

In all the land our race was once excelling.
In richer regions it e'en now possesses
Broad seats and fruitful; but by fate's hard stresses

The Mother's Song

Lord! Oh, hold in Thy hand my child,
Guard by the river its playing!
Send Thou Thy Spirit as comrade mild,
Lest it be lost in its straying!


Fair Venevil hastened with tripping feet
Her lover to meet.
He sang, so it rang o'er the church far away:
"Good-day! Good-day!"

The Princess

The princess looked down from her bower high,
The youth blew his horn as he lingered thereby.
"Be quiet, O youth, will forever you blow?
It hinders my thoughts, that would far away go,

When Norway Would Not Help

When Kattegat now or the Belt you sail,
No more will you sight
The Danish proud frigate, no more will you hail

Open Water!

Open water, open water!
All the weary winter's yearning
Bursts in restless passion burning.
Scarce is seen the blue of ocean,

Norway, Norway

Norway, Norway,
Rising in blue from the sea's gray and green,
Islands around like fledglings tender,