Viggo Stuckenberg

Viggo Stuckenberg Poems

1. Bogtrykkerrim 6/25/2012
2. Caracalla 6/25/2012
3. Clara 6/25/2012
4. Dagmildet 6/25/2012
5. David 6/25/2012
6. De Skyr Mig Alle 6/25/2012
7. December 6/25/2012
8. Decembernat 6/25/2012
9. Den Tredje Oktober 1885 6/25/2012
10. Den, Som Har Levet 6/25/2012
11. Der Pipper En Rødkjælk 6/25/2012
12. Dér Strøg Du, Fugl 6/25/2012
13. Det Hvide Hus 6/25/2012
14. Drag Ud 6/25/2012
15. Dreng! Elsk Tyve Tusind 6/25/2012
16. Du Fugl Som Fløj Saa Højt 6/25/2012
17. Du Kommer Som Et Syn 6/25/2012
18. Du Kommer Til Mig Og Spørger 6/25/2012
19. Du Ligger Dernede Og Drømmer Saa Blidt 6/25/2012
20. Du Store, Stille Skov 6/25/2012
21. Februar 6/25/2012
22. Finland 6/25/2012
23. Fjældskov 6/25/2012
24. Fontænen 6/25/2012
25. For Vinden Danser 6/25/2012
26. Foraarsnat 6/25/2012
27. Foraarsregn 6/25/2012
28. Foraarsvers 6/25/2012
29. Først I Oktober 6/25/2012
30. Første Maj 6/25/2012
31. Giv Mig Lysets Klinge 6/25/2012
32. Grave 6/25/2012
33. Grave Guld 6/25/2012
34. Graavejr 6/25/2012
35. Gyldne Agre 6/25/2012
36. Halvmørke 6/25/2012
37. Haven 6/25/2012
38. Hr. Lasse Fiend 6/25/2012
39. Dug 6/25/2012
40. Frederiksborg 6/25/2012

Comments about Viggo Stuckenberg

  • Shaun Stuckenberg (9/21/2005 12:30:00 AM)

    my name is shaun stuckenberg and i believe im am related to i do not know but we do have the same last name and my parents tell me im from a germen/danish decent..can anyone help me out in finding if im related to him?

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Best Poem of Viggo Stuckenberg

Autumn Evening

A tower stands by the edge of a wood, an old weathered tower with moss and creepers growing across the peepholes, with green moss in the cracks and corners, and withered woodbine hanging like stiff, dry hair down over the red stone. High up on the east side is the only window in the crumbling walls.

Up there behind the deep-set window a woman stands gazing out at the coming night. She is small and thin, and her hands resting on the window-sill are as white as moonlight, and her chin as pale and curved as an arum-lily. But her eyes shine black as pitch which drips from a burning ...

Read the full of Autumn Evening


It is a long way, a long way away in the land where all the Fairy Tales happen.

Out on a flat, snowcovered, endless barren field squats a tumbledown hut, and in the hut's only room sits a bent old man breathing on the ice on the windowpane. He is staring out over the lonely snow-plain which is empty, cold and trackless, while and sterile all the way to the frost-blue clouds on the horizon. The old man's breath spreads like thin steam over the pane, and freezes. The frost creaks in the woodw

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