THE COLLECTED POEMS OF HENRIK IBSEN Translated by John ...

33
True, there’s many a little maid
Dropped in, peeping through the entry,
But the casual visit paid
Only leaves the room more empty;
When she’s curtseyed her good-byes,
Thanked me kindly, formal-wise,
She’s forgotten — but the visit’s
Left me bored and with the fidgets.
No, I can’t go on this way,
As I see the situation!
If you please, move in to-day,
Sign a lease for the duration, —
We’re agreed on terms, in sum,
Only come, young Miss, do come! —
Let the sun while still on station
Witness our cohabitation! —
True, the room’s no hall, its clear,
For a blaring social meeting, —
Plain and cool while summer’s here,
Not, come winter, short of heating; —
There’s one picture on the wall —
It’s my portrait — and that’s all;
I shall paint, should you decide it,
A friendly cherub close beside it.
Then a tidy of the room. —
Everything to its compartment,
Then I’ll feel no empty gloom
Henceforth in my heart’s apartment;
Sabbath-smiles the whole day long,
Life one smoothly-flowing song,
I shall guard your every pleasure
As my room’s most priceless treasure!
THE BARD IN VALHALLA
(On the announcement of O. Œhlenschläger’s death)
Death’s harp has quivered!
Cleansed and delivered
High soars the Bard from Earth’s pall,
But on his lofty
Heavenward journey
Visits the Æsir-gods’ hall.
There the Bard striding
High over Bifrost
Into the gods’ keep ascends,