Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson Poems
|122.||To The Dannebrog||3/31/2010|
|123.||Toast For The Men Of Eidsvold||3/31/2010|
|125.||When Comes The Morning?||3/31/2010|
|126.||When Norway Would Not Help||3/31/2010|
|128.||Young Men And Women, Strong And Sound||3/31/2010|
... Oceanward I am ever yearning,
Where far it rolls in its calm and grandeur,
The weight of mountain-like fogbanks bearing,
Forever wandering and returning.
The skies may lower, the land may call it,
It knows no resting and knows no yielding.
In nights of summer, in storms of winter,
Its surges murmur the self-same longing.
Yes, oceanward I am ever yearning,
Where far is lifted its broad, cold forehead!
Thereon the world throws its deepest shadow
And mirrors whispering all its anguish.
Though warm and blithesome the bright sun stroke it
With joyous ...
The youth in the woods spent the whole day long,
The whole day long;
For there he had heard such a wonderful song,
Willow-wood gave him a flute so fair,
A flute so fair,--
To try, if within were the melody rare,