Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, EDVARD GRIEG, by CHARLES WHARTON STORK



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

EDVARD GRIEG, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The light across the fjord is very cool
Last Line: The very scene I look on here tonight.
Subject(s): Light; Love; Norway; Sea; Summer; Ocean


The light across the fjord is very cool
Tonight, and in the fading summer sky
The blue is softer than forgetmenots.
The fjord itself, too -- what a delicate green,
What an elusive, nixie-laving green,
Caressed with silver! From its dusky rim
Rise mighty rock-wall bastions, harsh enough,
Except that down their craggy shoulders hang
Thin veins of waterfalls -- one still can see
Where the white threads meander on the black,
Beyond, one guesses rather than discerns
The shimmering snow-peaks, more like frozen clouds
Or spellbound pinions of the cherubim
Than any shape of earth.
I love all this
With passion that can sink me in a swoon
For hours. And yet I think I love still more
The little fringe of human life that parts
The fjord-side from the foot of the great cliffs.
The apple orchards are in fullest bloom,
And I can fancy what the day would show;
That on the squat stone huts the sodded roofs
Are purple with wild pansies. By the shore
The sturdy rowboats are unlading piles
Of glinting salmon, while from time to time
I hear the clank of cowbells. Peace is here
And purity and strength, no less in folk
Than landscape, and my heart breathes ecstacy
So deep, so different from all else the world
Can give, that often sadness weighs me down.

No words, no colors can do more than hint
The soul of Norway, with its hero tales,
Its fairy legends, the adventure lust,
The iron loyalty, the pastoral calm
Kindled with exaltation -- all around
Beauty of earth and sea and air, half bright,
Half sombre, like this evening on the fjord;
And human love, transfigured, rarified
To something more of spirit than of flesh.

There is a music seems to hover here
Unheard, a presence rather than a sound.
Or do invisible fingers trail across
Aeolian chords within me? All I know
Is that sometimes, like spirits of the wind,
Strange little wisps of melody float up
From my heart's chamber, by no will of mine,
And I can catch them, living, behind bars
On a white page. When others let them out,
People may say, "Why, here's a novel use
Of minor modulation." But a few,
Listening in silence then, may let their thoughts
Go dreaming far away across the sea,
Till in a mingled mood of wistful joy
And meditative sadness they behold
The very scene I look on here tonight.





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