Heimilisblaðið - 01.06.1934, Blaðsíða 2

84
HEIMILISBLAÐIÐ
0 de
to Irene de Noiret, von Ratli.
By Sigurður Sigurðsson frá Arnarholti.
How long is since tliou first time saw thine own hancl?
How many times is thine hand hy angels kissed?
How ofren has thine marhle hand heen missed
hy noblemen in thine nohle fatherland?
Come! Let us go together in the poetrys exile,
with the longings in my heart and on thine ndnj lips the angels smile.
Come to Dreamland with me —
/ fly to Dreamland with tliee!
The only land.to he from the sadnees free.
Can you hear and see, I am sighmg for thee?
Dont you wonder that I, the polarbear,
is sitting here in the dawn
shedding in veaJc verses dewtear?
Why do you hide 'your hand ívitli glove?
Shoidd I hid.e so my marble innocent love?
A.s a marble dove is thine hand, from Eldoradoland —
and mine young íove is so cliildish
as fine is tlúne hand, thou grand.
Farwell! I can sing far higher and deeper song
and / will be gladder and far more strong
if thou smde, Jrene, oh>, smile once again to me!
Mine soul is lifted to heaven on wings of sympathie.
-----T'ive o’clock in the morning; I slept the midniglit,
awakened. at three, because I ivas so sick of love. to thee.
Melancholy has too the evphory.
Thus is the Ode to Irene.
Thine angelnssong,
mine flyingwing
flew together to Paradise,
Irene, beautyful and vise,
Today the sorrow.
Dreamland tomorrow.