Tomt hus terenger ingen lås !

What else ?
Out of the lost days, what more ?
I shall not look at much more.
There is that mountain village we drove
In the "battered sort of a car",
And sat at sunset outside the inn
With peasants at a rough table
A roof of leaves above us
Drinking vin du pays.
And where in a huge billowy bed
With coarse clean sheets
We slept in each other`s arms
Deeply and sweetly the night through;
Half waking to the clink of goats`bells
And pit-pat of small hooves
Through the square
Very early;
Sinking, with a movement of content -
Of surprise first, then remembrance and infinite content
At our closeness-
To sleep again...

And walk over the bridge of destiny...