Quatrains - Poem by Jonas Hallgrimsson
Ah, who mourns an Icelander,
all alone and dying?
Earth will clasp his corpse to her
and kiss it where it's lying.
Such is my lot, my lonely doom.
Life would have brimmed with pleasure
had I known her better whom
I hunger for and treasure.
May your mornings all be gay!
May your nights bring gladness!
Here, this dark December day,
I dwell in exile sadness.
Look! the sun is circling north,
soon it will shine above you!
Would that I once more might set forth,
with one more chance to love you!
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