Tidlig natt i august
løsner sommeren ?
Som en drøm av jordens panne.
Løfter seg over de tunge markene
og glir bort på myke vingeslag i
det bristende lyset.
Barefoot over the earth.
Shavings curl in the wood
Which berry-smells fill.
A cottage grows up
On Sintras Hill.
In half-an-hour`s walk
From the village Colares
My life like a legend.
Begins all over.
Not for loafers to envy-
to no haven or cove,
Like a rank-and-file trooper
I go to Sintras Hills.
Only smoke-wreaths will climb
From the gully edge rolled
When its house-warming Rhyme
In the forest will hold.
I dream:
At a distance
From everyday din
To acquire birds` keen vision
Unknown to us men.
Like the Snake-Eater I,
Ears wide open, will learn
The language of frogs
And the grass and the fern.
Come and visit me, neighbors
From villages near and distance
I`ll treat you with poems
Sweet to the ear.
I`ll quarrel with no one
On Sintra Hill
With air pure as sea-air,
Dawn clear as a rill.
No fences
Nor latches
Nor locks will there be.
My cottage will welcome
Good folk es heartily.
But if anyone comes
With intention black,
It will show to such folks
Not its front, but its back...
Barefoot over the earth:
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