THANKS
by: Henrik Ibsen
- ER griefs were the hours
- When my struggle was sore,--
- Her joys were the powers
- That the climber upbore.
-
- Her home is the boundless
- Free ocean that seems
- To rock, calm and soundless,
- My galleon of dreams.
-
- Half hers are the glancing
- Creations that throng
- With pageant and dancing
- The ways of my song.
-
- My fires when they dwindle
- Are lit from her brand;
- Men see them rekindle
- Nor guess by whose hand.
-
- Of thanks to requite her
- No least thought is hers,--
- And therefore I write her,
- Once, thanks in a verse.
'Thanks' was originally written
ca. 1871. This English translation is reprinted from Lyrics
& Poems from Ibsen. Trans. Fydell Edmund Garrett. New
York: E.P. Dutton & Co., 1912. |
MORE
POEMS BY IBSEN |
|
|
|
|