This world where much to be done and little to be known...

A song without words :

No berries, no mushrooms remain in the wood,
And yet it's so good, so good !
Every morning I go and bring something home
Out of the neighboring Mosseskogen -

A birch-knot,
A knife handle
Or a root,
Some firewood under my arm,
A cone like a hedgehog - a regular beaut'!-
A song without words so far...

Let it be quiet,
Not still there's a hum in my ear:
The rustle of grass, the stir of a crown
I hold back my breath to hear.

Here and there,
Though the sky's unseen,
Down to the bottom right through
Either Molbek pool or a puddle gleam
with the same deep, bottomless blue.
Don't mind that the birds must soon depart,
Or arrive ?...
Than the leaves fall down all around. 
I've picked up a song, and it lives in my heart,
And the words - well,  they'll soon be found.