Henrik Wergeland Poems

Hvo minnes ikke
et vær, han tror, ei himlen mer kan skikke?
et vær som om hver sjel, fra Kains til den,
Gud sist fordømte,
...

Come to me, grief, on my bosom press,
Lest it should burst with joy’s excess:
Heaven, with disaster, hell, with your pains,
Calm its commotion. For here awhile
...

Crowned, lofty scion of the pine
Whence Gothic architect’s design
Derived the grace and power
For churches planned in noblest style,
...