Classic Poem

Ulla, mine Ulla, to thee may I proffer
Reddest of strawberries, milk, and wine,
Or a bright carp from the fen shall I offer,
Or but a bowl from the fountain so fine?
Truly the flood-gates of heaven are broken —
Rich is the scent of flower and tree —
Drizzling, the clouds now the sun but foretoken,
Thou may'st see.

Chorus

Is n't it delightful, little Fishertown?
" Delightful! Be it spoken. "
Here the rows of tree-trunks stretching proudly down
In brand-new gown;
There the quiet reaches
Of the inlet flow;
And off yonder mid the ditches
Ploughed land, lo!
Is n't it delightful — all these meadows, though?
" Delightful, so
Delightful, oh! "

Hail, sweet, who there at the window dost hover!
Hark, how the bells from the city sound!
See how with dust-clouds the carriages cover
All the green hue of the country around!
I in my saddle drowsing survey thee.
Hand from the window, cousin mine,
First a dry rusk and a can of, I pray thee,
Hogland wine.

Is n't it delightful, etc .
Off to his stable is led my good charger,
Whinnying, stamping in mad career.
Soon in the doorway he stands. How much larger
Seem now his eyes as he stares at thee here!
Thou dost enkindle all nature with pleasure,
As thy warm eyes enflame now me.
Clang! at thy lattice with heart's fullest measure —
Here 's to thee.

Chorus

Is n't it delightful, little Fishertown?
" Delightful! Be it spoken. "
Here the rows of tree-trunks stretching proudly down
In brand-new gown;
There the quiet reaches
Of the inlet flow;
And off yonder mid the ditches
Ploughed land, lo!
Is n't it delightful — all these meadows, though?
" Delightful, so
Delightful, oh! "