Sweden's Laureate: Selected Poems of Verner von Heidenstam/From "Thoughts in Loneliness"
FROM "THOUGHTS IN LONELINESS."
I.
The Spark.
There Is a spark dwells deep within my soul.
To get it out into the daylight's glow
Is my life's aim both first and last, the whole.
The Spark.
There Is a spark dwells deep within my soul.
To get it out into the daylight's glow
Is my life's aim both first and last, the whole.
It slips away, it burns and tortures me.
That little spark is all the wealth I know;
That little spark is my life's misery.
That little spark is all the wealth I know;
That little spark is my life's misery.
II.
An Elder Day.
In solitude my life-years drift away;
I babble to my dog, I stir my fire.
I do not feel the loss of yesterday,
'Tis hours fled long since that I desire,
When yonder bent and grizzled serving-man
Who brought my supper in was young.
When, children yet, my parents played among
The grasses, ere my life began.
An Elder Day.
In solitude my life-years drift away;
I babble to my dog, I stir my fire.
I do not feel the loss of yesterday,
'Tis hours fled long since that I desire,
When yonder bent and grizzled serving-man
Who brought my supper in was young.
When, children yet, my parents played among
The grasses, ere my life began.
IV.
Childhood Scenes.
I've longed for home these eight long years, I know.
I long in sleep as well as through the day.
I long for home. I seek where'er I go—
Not men-folk, but the fields where I would stray,
The stones where as a child I used to play.
Childhood Scenes.
I've longed for home these eight long years, I know.
I long in sleep as well as through the day.
I long for home. I seek where'er I go—
Not men-folk, but the fields where I would stray,
The stones where as a child I used to play.
V.
The Shifting Self.
Each night my old self in the grave I lay
And get me another on waking.
With a hundred thoughts I begin the day,
Not one to my slumber-time taking.
'Twixt sorrow and joy I roam without pause;
I seem like a riddle, none dafter.
But lucky is he who for any cause,
Can burst into tears or laughter.
The Shifting Self.
Each night my old self in the grave I lay
And get me another on waking.
With a hundred thoughts I begin the day,
Not one to my slumber-time taking.
'Twixt sorrow and joy I roam without pause;
I seem like a riddle, none dafter.
But lucky is he who for any cause,
Can burst into tears or laughter.
VII.
My Mother.
As years would fade, I often kept returning
To an old empty house, deserted quite,
Its hundred windows burning
With vivid sunset light.
Opening and closing, anxiously I strayed there
From room to room, but found no clocks that swayed their
Bright pendulums, nor furniture beneath.
To the last room I came. Displayed there
Upon the wall in withered wreath
A dark, half-ruined picture hung:
A small, old dame in black arrayed,—
A starched cap round her comely features clung.
And yonder woman, silently portrayed
On canvas dark, I saw when I was young,
She prayed my life might have a worthy goal.
And 'twas her picture, when all else was gone,
That still was left me, that alone.
Yon empty dwelling was my soul.
My Mother.
As years would fade, I often kept returning
To an old empty house, deserted quite,
Its hundred windows burning
With vivid sunset light.
Opening and closing, anxiously I strayed there
From room to room, but found no clocks that swayed their
Bright pendulums, nor furniture beneath.
To the last room I came. Displayed there
Upon the wall in withered wreath
A dark, half-ruined picture hung:
A small, old dame in black arrayed,—
A starched cap round her comely features clung.
And yonder woman, silently portrayed
On canvas dark, I saw when I was young,
She prayed my life might have a worthy goal.
And 'twas her picture, when all else was gone,
That still was left me, that alone.
Yon empty dwelling was my soul.
VIII.
Fame.
You seek for fame; but I would choose another
And greater blessing: so to be forgotten
That none should hear my name; no, not my mother.
Fame.
You seek for fame; but I would choose another
And greater blessing: so to be forgotten
That none should hear my name; no, not my mother.
IX.
Obedience.
Now even-song is ringing,
I ride to win me rest.
My steed, let us be springing
Out into the glowing west!
How glad among men my life would be,
Were not "Obey!" our A and Z!
Obedience.
Now even-song is ringing,
I ride to win me rest.
My steed, let us be springing
Out into the glowing west!
How glad among men my life would be,
Were not "Obey!" our A and Z!
If the world had one mouth like a great black well
And should cry as loud as a booming bell:
"Obey, or in fetters double
Of iron and wood thou shalt straight be bound!"
I hardly should take the trouble
To look up and glance around.
And should cry as loud as a booming bell:
"Obey, or in fetters double
Of iron and wood thou shalt straight be bound!"
I hardly should take the trouble
To look up and glance around.
If the Lord of the World from an evening cloud
Should thunder "Obey!" with menacings loud,
I would answer: "Lower your voice, God, pray,
And perhaps I shall hear what you say!"
Should thunder "Obey!" with menacings loud,
I would answer: "Lower your voice, God, pray,
And perhaps I shall hear what you say!"
My steed so strong,
Not yet do I long
For my stuffy home and the stove.
Keep on for an hour, for twain maybe!
And you purchase for me
Two hours of the respite I love.
Not yet do I long
For my stuffy home and the stove.
Keep on for an hour, for twain maybe!
And you purchase for me
Two hours of the respite I love.
X.
Helpless Animals.
If I should have a friend, one only friend,
And that friend slew a helpless beast and gave
His hand, to which of late mine warmly clave,
Though I still longed an answering grasp to lend,
My hand with his I never more would blend.
Helpless Animals.
If I should have a friend, one only friend,
And that friend slew a helpless beast and gave
His hand, to which of late mine warmly clave,
Though I still longed an answering grasp to lend,
My hand with his I never more would blend.
If he lay sick, the friend who had the heart
To slay a helpless beast, and felt the smart
Of thirst, and I was sitting there beside him
On his last night, no drink would I provide him,
But fill and drain my glass, and so depart.
To slay a helpless beast, and felt the smart
Of thirst, and I was sitting there beside him
On his last night, no drink would I provide him,
But fill and drain my glass, and so depart.
XII.
The Trap.
A cunning trap I'm laying.
Your love I have truly sought,
But just as you will be saying
Deep down in your inmost thought:
The Trap.
A cunning trap I'm laying.
Your love I have truly sought,
But just as you will be saying
Deep down in your inmost thought:
"I'll give the bad man his due then,
My heart that he's begged so long;"
I'll turn my back on you then
And make a merry song.
My heart that he's begged so long;"
I'll turn my back on you then
And make a merry song.
XVI.
The Cup.
A mighty cup my sires possessed,
A mighty great pewter cup.
My heart is warmed as I fill it up
And lift it on high with a zest.
The Cup.
A mighty cup my sires possessed,
A mighty great pewter cup.
My heart is warmed as I fill it up
And lift it on high with a zest.
Then out of the ale sighs an ancient song,
Like torches the strophes flame.
God grant that our children may hear it long
While of us it murmurs the same!
Like torches the strophes flame.
God grant that our children may hear it long
While of us it murmurs the same!
XVII.
Self-Impatience.
Within my heart of hearts I'm well advised
That I am worst among the men I know of.
Not only friends I mean, but this is so of
All those as well whom I have most despised.
Self-Impatience.
Within my heart of hearts I'm well advised
That I am worst among the men I know of.
Not only friends I mean, but this is so of
All those as well whom I have most despised.
When comes the day when, young and strong for strife
I may step forth and prove with eager passion
The tithe of greatness in my composition
And for a sacred cause yield up my life?
I may step forth and prove with eager passion
The tithe of greatness in my composition
And for a sacred cause yield up my life?
XVIII.
Insight.
I've searched half the world over everywhere
For a place that I fairest might call.
So lovely, though, were they all
That none could well be most fair.
Insight.
I've searched half the world over everywhere
For a place that I fairest might call.
So lovely, though, were they all
That none could well be most fair.
Take all that is mine or mine can be,
But leave me my one best gift:
That scenes may delight me, uplift,
Which another scarcely would see.
But leave me my one best gift:
That scenes may delight me, uplift,
Which another scarcely would see.
XXI.
A Farewell.
You cared for me, and at your behest
I'd have laid my all at your feet.
But late I'd have given the world, my sweet,
For your heart, your lips, your breast.
A Farewell.
You cared for me, and at your behest
I'd have laid my all at your feet.
But late I'd have given the world, my sweet,
For your heart, your lips, your breast.
But lucky our love, ever hid from sight,
Which bound not for weal or for woe
Till it languished away, till we slew it outright
By faults neither one could forego!
Which bound not for weal or for woe
Till it languished away, till we slew it outright
By faults neither one could forego!
What can be forgotten with years, forget!
Cast me out as a corpse might be cast!
This mournful dream of our love may be yet
A memory of youth at the last.
Cast me out as a corpse might be cast!
This mournful dream of our love may be yet
A memory of youth at the last.
XXIV.
Self-Atonement.
Too proud am I to see another suffer
A death abhorred
My guilt to ease;
Too tender to look on when Christ should offer
To thorns his forehead—
My thorns are these.
For my life's care, in my heart I hide it.
The sin that I on man and beast have wrought
And against thee, O Nature, be it brought
Upon my life, and let my memory abide it!
Self-Atonement.
Too proud am I to see another suffer
A death abhorred
My guilt to ease;
Too tender to look on when Christ should offer
To thorns his forehead—
My thorns are these.
For my life's care, in my heart I hide it.
The sin that I on man and beast have wrought
And against thee, O Nature, be it brought
Upon my life, and let my memory abide it!
XXVI.
Last Prayer.
Quickly my little life will have departed.
To whom then should I pray, if at the last I could,
Lying upon my pillow, heavy-hearted
For the much ill I'd done and little good?
Last Prayer.
Quickly my little life will have departed.
To whom then should I pray, if at the last I could,
Lying upon my pillow, heavy-hearted
For the much ill I'd done and little good?
Shall hopeless prayers be hushed in their up-springing?
Shall I in dumb despair upon my death-bed lie?
Or to deaf Nature's might shall I be flinging
A cry that fades away without reply?
Shall I in dumb despair upon my death-bed lie?
Or to deaf Nature's might shall I be flinging
A cry that fades away without reply?
No, but I will pray, lest my spirit harden,
Silent but heart-warm prayers to those of my own clay,
That they forgive my sins as theirs I pardon.
Unto my living fellow-men I'll pray.
Silent but heart-warm prayers to those of my own clay,
That they forgive my sins as theirs I pardon.
Unto my living fellow-men I'll pray.