Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen

Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen Poems

Within the rose I found a trembling tear,
Close curtained in a gloom of crimson night
By tender petals from the outer light,
...

O, HAVE you been in Gudbrand’s dale, where Laagen’s mighty flood
Chants evermore its wild refrain unto the listening wood?
...

How can I lightly speak thy wondrous name,
Which breathes the airy fragrance of thyself,
As might, far straying from his flower, the elf
...

Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen Biography

Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen (1848–1895) was an American author and college professor. He was born at the Norwegian naval base Fredriksvern, near the village of Stavern in Vestfold County, Norway. Boyesen was well-schooled in both German and Scandinavian literature, graduating from the University of Leipzig and the University of Oslo. Boyesen immigrated to the United States during 1869 and initially became assistant editor of Fremad, a Norwegian language weekly published in Chicago. The multi-lingual Boyesen subsequently taught Greek and Latin classes at Urbana University. Boyesen was a professor of North European Languages at Cornell University from 1874 to 1880. Boyesen became a professor of Germanic languages at Columbia University in 1881. His scholarly works included Goethe and Schiller, Essays on German Literature, A Commentary on the Works of Henrik Ibsen and Essays on Scandinavian Literature.Boyesen is more commonly known for his works of popular fiction. His most successful books have remained those based upon Norwegian culture and habits. He wrote many books of fiction for adults and children and some poetry. He is best remembered for his novel Gunnar: A Tale of Norse Life generally considered to have been the first novel by a Norwegian immigrant in America.)

The Best Poem Of Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen

If The Rose Could Speak

Within the rose I found a trembling tear,
Close curtained in a gloom of crimson night
By tender petals from the outer light,
I plucked the flower and held it to my ear,
And thought within its fervid breast to hear
A smothered heart-beat throbbing soft and low.
I heard its busy life-blood gently flow,
Now far away and now so strangely near.
Ah, thought I, if these silent lips of flame
Could be unsealed and fling into the air
Their woe, their passion, and in speech proclaim
Their warm intoxication of despair;-
Then would I give the rose into thy hand;
Thou couldst its voice, beloved, not withstand.

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