Hans Christian Andersen

(2 April 1805 – 4 August 1875 / Odense)

Hans Christian Andersen Poems

201. Skildvagten 7/3/2012
202. Skovbal 7/3/2012
203. Slaaentjørnen 7/3/2012
204. Søetoft 7/3/2012
205. Vær Hilset, Du Fortids Toledo 7/3/2012
206. Manden Fra Paradiis 7/3/2012
207. Poesien [1849] 7/3/2012
208. Med 'Molbechs Eventyr' 7/3/2012
209. Paris [paris, Hvor Er Du Dog Lystig Og Glad] 7/3/2012
210. Min Lille Fugl, Hvor Flyver Du? 7/3/2012
211. October 4/20/2012
212. Med En Hund I Sæbe 7/3/2012
213. Med En Bronze-Hest Som Papirpresse 7/3/2012
214. Rückerts 'Gedichte' 7/3/2012
215. Snee-Dronningen 7/3/2012
216. The Dying Child 4/20/2012
217. Januar 4/20/2012
218. Februar 4/20/2012
219. June 4/20/2012
220. Bøgetræet 7/2/2012
221. Børnene Og Den Graa Morlille 7/2/2012
222. C. Bredahl 7/2/2012
223. C. Castenskjold 7/2/2012
224. C. Hauch 7/2/2012
225. C. Lund 7/2/2012
226. C. Molbech 7/2/2012
227. C. Neergaard 7/2/2012
228. C. Søeborg 7/2/2012
229. C. Wilster 7/2/2012
230. C. Winther 7/2/2012
231. Cadiz 7/2/2012
232. Cavaleren Til Sin Dame 7/2/2012
233. Christian Voigt 7/2/2012
234. Christian Wulff 7/2/2012
235. Barn Jesus I En Krybbe Laae 7/2/2012
236. Basnæs 7/2/2012
237. Berliin 7/2/2012
238. Bibelens Job Ham Kjender Du Vel? 7/2/2012
239. Broderet Paa Et Guitarbaand 7/2/2012
240. Brudefolkene 7/2/2012

Comments about Hans Christian Andersen

  • joyce rashid (3/10/2018 12:57:00 PM)

    looking for English translation of Hans Christian Anderson

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Best Poem of Hans Christian Andersen

From The Philosopher’s Stone

Now she heard the following words sadly sung,—

“Life is a shadow that flits away
In a night of darkness and woe.”

But then would follow brighter thoughts:

“Life has the rose’s sweet perfume
With sunshine, light, and joy.”

And if one stanza sounded painfully—

“Each mortal thinks of himself alone,
Is a truth, alas, too clearly known;”

Then, on the other hand, came the answer—

“Love, like a mighty flowing stream,
Fills every heart with its radiant gleam.”

She heard, indeed, such words as these—

“In the pretty ...

Read the full of From The Philosopher’s Stone

The Dying Child

Mother, I'm tired, and I would fain be sleeping;
Let me repose upon thy bosom sick;
But promise me that thou wilt leave off weeping,
Because thy tears fall hot upon my cheek.

Here it is cold: the tempest raveth madly;
But in my dreams all is so wondrous bright;
I see the angel-children smiling gladly,
When from my weary eyes I shut out light.

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