Edvard Søderberg: Poems of the Street
In Denmark you’ll find house by house,
some thousand small ones on a line,
with reddish roofs and chimney smoke
which smells of dinner time.
Some thousand yards with flowerbeds
where herbs and asters grow –
church towers behind hillsides,
and small sailboats on the fjord.
In Denmark there runs path by path
which meet up with all larger roads;
the skylark sings, the throstle too,
in May so too the cuckoo.
In Denmark whispers the green wood,
and shines the clear, bright sun –
it shines equally on livery
and poor men’s clothes, well worn.
I love these lined-up roofs
and the cabbage patches small,
the whispering forest, the glossy fjord,
the sun that shines on it all.
I love this people, the thousand small,
who in Denmark live and work –
the poor man’s cot at the beaten track
and the fishing boat on the fjord.
The thousands of people who stay and fight
though they win for themselves merely tidbits –
cursed be them who wage war on this people
to break its courage and spirit!