Treasure Island

Viggo Stuckenberg


Aften i Luxembourg-haven


Hen under Himlen aftengraa Skyer
i jagende Uro drager,
Lyset er koldt og Jorden vaad
og alle Smaafugle klager.

Det drypper fra Luxembourg-Havens Træer,
og Løvet bruser som Silke,
et Bed Tulipaner i Laser staar
og visner paa tynde Stilke.

Jeg gaar derinde og fryser selv
fremmed, hjemløs, alene,
finder tilfældigt en Buste gemt
bag regntunge Elmegrene.

Et furet Hoved, to Øjne som
Fortvivlelsens aabne Helved,
Haaret en knugende Uvejrssky,
og Brynene sorgfuldt hvælvet,

men Munden — Munden saa ung og blød
som dugget af Rosers Aande,
— et Hoved løftet af Blodets Brus
og bøjet i bitter Vaande.

Chopin — Der bliver saa ensomt tyst
i samme Stund under Løvet,
som tav hver Graaspurv i Busk og Græs
og lukked sit Næb bedrøvet.

Og al min Længsel mig fylder vildt,
saa underlig angst og bange,
som kunde min sidste Glæde dø,
før helt jeg turde den fange.

Submitted: Monday, June 25, 2012
Edited: Monday, June 25, 2012

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