Hans Christian Andersen

(2 April 1805 – 4 August 1875 / Odense)

Hans Christian Andersen Poems

241. Bruden I Rørvig Kirke 7/2/2012
242. Brudstykke Af En Rundsang 7/2/2012
243. Da Hun Sang 7/2/2012
244. Dagen Stiger 7/2/2012
245. Dampskibet Gudenaa 7/2/2012
246. Dandse, Dandse Dukke Min! 7/2/2012
247. Dandserinden Augusta Nielsen 7/2/2012
248. Danmark Kommer Bouquetten Fra 7/2/2012
249. Danmark, Mit Fædreland 7/2/2012
250. Darro Givet Har Det Løfte 7/2/2012
251. De Fattige Børn Paa Gaden 7/2/2012
252. Den 22de April 1847 7/2/2012
253. Den 2den Februar 1864 7/2/2012
254. Den Bedste Drøm 7/2/2012
255. Den Dag, Vi Fødtes, Bliver Os En Fest 7/2/2012
256. Den Fremmede Fugl 7/2/2012
257. Den Frivillige 7/2/2012
258. Bort Med Taarer, Bort Med Suk! 7/2/2012
259. Cigaren 7/2/2012
260. Cometen 1834 7/2/2012
261. Den Jydske Hede I Regnveir 7/2/2012
262. Den Nye Sprøite 7/2/2012
263. Den Rædselfulde Time 7/2/2012
264. Den Stille Uge 7/2/2012
265. Den Unge Herr Petersen 7/2/2012
266. Du Er Poet 7/2/2012
267. Du Finder Din Lykke I Kjøbenhavn 7/2/2012
268. Dykker-Klokken 7/2/2012
269. Dødsenglen Flyver I Slimet Ham 7/2/2012
270. E. Storm 7/2/2012
271. En Glædes-Fest I Dag Vi Har 7/2/2012
272. En Moders Skaal 7/2/2012
273. Erindringen Gjemmer Saa Mangt Et Syn 7/2/2012
274. Et Evigt Liv Tør Jeg Ikke Kræve 7/2/2012
275. F. C. Sibbern 7/2/2012
276. F. H. Guldberg 7/2/2012
277. F. J. Hansen 7/2/2012
278. Fire Fjæle Er Vor Pragt 7/2/2012
279. Flodleiet Ligger Udtørret 7/2/2012
280. For Danmark! 7/2/2012
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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