Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson Poems
|107.||From The Cantata For N. F. S. Grundtvig||3/31/2010|
|108.||From Monte Pincio||3/31/2010|
|112.||For The Wounded||3/31/2010|
|113.||For A Charity Fair||3/31/2010|
|114.||During A Journey In Sweden||3/31/2010|
|119.||Ballad Of Tailor Nils||1/1/2004|
|120.||At Michael Sars's Grave||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.