Viggo Stuckenberg


Viggo Stuckenberg Poems

241. Bækken 6/25/2012
242. Bajazet 6/25/2012
243. Bekendelse 6/25/2012
244. Aften 6/25/2012
245. Ak, Hvad Er Det Hele 6/25/2012
246. April 1885 6/25/2012
247. Aprilgrøde 6/25/2012
248. Assistents Kirkegaard 6/25/2012
249. Angst 6/25/2012
250. April 6/25/2012
251. August 6/25/2012
252. Aarhundredskifte 6/26/2012
253. Aa, Jeg Bærer Himmelrummet 6/26/2012
254. Aaliv 6/26/2012
255. Augustaften 6/25/2012
256. April [min Egen Lille Kær-Søster] 6/25/2012
257. Aldrig Glemmer Jeg 6/25/2012
258. Aften I Luxembourg-Haven 6/25/2012
259. Aftensol 6/25/2012
260. Bethlehemsstjærnen 6/25/2012
261. Augustnat 6/25/2012
262. Asters 6/25/2012
263. Barn, Du Er Mig Som Den Store Skov 6/25/2012
264. Ingeborg 4/21/2010
265. Ak, Florenz, Florenz, Alle Dine Kampe! 6/25/2012
266. Snow 1/1/2004
267. Autumn Evening 1/1/2004

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 Viggo..how 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

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

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