Battles nor songs can from oblivion save,
But Fame upon a white deed loves to build:
From out that cup of water Sidney gave,
Not one drop has been spilled.

Imellem fattigt Græs og Urt
Tidt blomstrer Skjønheds Rose,
Og Liliens Bæger reent og puurt
Staaer frem fra vildsom Mose.
Spørg ikke om hvor Planten groer,
Men hvad af Gud der i den boer!

I'm the pen your lover writes with
You say I went ahead without you
But without you I would've recorded nothing about you
And so your lover's words

I'm off'n wild wimmen
An Cognac
An Sinnin'
For I'm in loOOOOOOOve.

I'm going out,
flies, so relax,
make love.


Translated by Robert Hass

I'm a wanderer
so let that be my name –
the first winter rain

I'll look for you at Veernag,
in the garb of an unknown mendicent,
at Pooli, cheeni-gund,
Drengi. Give me a glimpse, Kongi

It was in her white skirts that he loved to see
her run straight through the branches and leaves, gracefully,
but still gauche, and hiding her leg from the light,
when she tore her dress, on the briars, in her flight.

If you've melted your desires
in the river of time, choose
to be a recluse, or choose
a family, the village job.

If you know the pure Lord within you,
you'll be That, wherever.

If you show patience, I'll rid you of this virtue.
If you fall asleep, I'll rub the sleep from your eyes.
If you become a mountain, I'll melt you in fire.
And if you become an ocean, I'll drink all your water.