The hell of memory
burnings on the stake of life
ash settles in dust

When all the things you need to do
remain
all the things you need to do.

Giem Steen — Giem Præget af vort Bryst,
At Evighedens Børn maae lære
Vort Nordens Roes — dets Held, dets Lyst,
Vor Tak — og JULIANES Ære!

Hvo der vil sætte Huus efter hver Mands Sind,
Han bygger et Huus hen i Veir og Vind.

Igjennem Flammer blev jeg til;
Livs-Flammen Gud jeg synge vil.

Tøm mit runde Guld med Lyst!
I Olympens høje Sæde
Blev jeg, Guderne til Glæde,
Formet paa Cytheres Bryst.

For korte Dage
for megen Plage.
Ved Livets Fest
er jeg kun Gæst.

When Grandmamma fell off the boat,
And couldn’t swim, and wouldn’t float,
Maria just sat by and smiled -
I almost could have slapped the child!

The new world honors him whose lofty plea
For England's freedom made her own more sure,
Whose song, immortal as its theme, shall be
Their common freehold while both worlds endure.

O mia Luna! Porta mi fortuna!
(You must say it nine times, curtseying, and then wish.)
In rose-pale, fading blue of twilight sky,
See, the new moon's thin crescent shining clear;
Nine times I'll curtsey murmuring mystic words, -
And wish good fortune to our love, my dear.