Poems of Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
|102.||The Pure Norwegian Flag||3/31/2010|
|106.||The white rose and the red rose||3/31/2010|
|107.||They Have Found Each Other||3/31/2010|
|108.||Those with me||3/31/2010|
|109.||To A Godson||3/31/2010|
|110.||To aasmund olafsen vinje (sung at his wife's grave)||3/31/2010|
|111.||To Erika Lie||3/31/2010|
|112.||To Hans Christian Andersen||3/31/2010|
|113.||To Johan Dahl, Bookdealer||3/31/2010|
|114.||To Johan Sverdrup||3/31/2010|
|115.||To Missionary Skrefsrud In Santalistan||3/31/2010|
|117.||To my father (upon his retirement)||3/31/2010|
|118.||To My Wife||3/31/2010|
|119.||To Sculptor Borch||3/31/2010|
Our Country 1859
A land there is, lying near far-northern snow,
Where only the fissures life's springtime may know.
But surging, the sea tells of great deeds done,
And loved is the land as a mother by son.
What time we were little and sat on her knee,
She gave us her saga with pictures to see.
We read till our eyes opened wide and moist,
While nodding and smiling she mute rejoiced.