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

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I’m thinking of the legend of the swan;
It was life’s end first set its music ringing,
Before, quite mute; — so let’s mark the beginning
Of our own journey with a cheerful song.
Ah, once we lose the habit, when that’s gone,
We too will soon have lost the knack of singing,
We’ll join the caravan that lumbers on
Across life’s deserts where the heat is stinging.
And therefore from the Spring’s most joyous passion,
We, like the lark, our tranquil nests shall fashion
And there brood steadfastly on Memory’s treasure.
And dreaming there in winter-night’s long leisure,
We shall recall full many a friendly flower
That’s sere of petal, fresh with Memory’s power.
THE MINER
Rock-face, crack and boom and go
Crashing to my hammer-blow;
I must clear a way down yonder
To the goal I dare but ponder.
Deep within the fell’s still night
Treasures rich and rare invite,
Precious stones and diamonds blazing
Midst the gold’s resplendent mazing.
In the depths here all is peace,
Peace and night that never cease; —
Soon earth’s very heart shall clamour
To the smiting of my hammer.
As a child I loved to lie
Out beneath the star-decked sky,
Lie on springtime’s beds of flowers,
Blessed with heaven’s soothing powers.
I forgot Spring’s show of bloom
In the mine-shaft’s midnight gloom,
And forgot the birds’ blithe revels
In the mountain’s stifling levels.