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 wood ---


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 in Mosseskogen...


Let it be quiet,
Not a soul around,
Only my dog,
Yet still there's a hum in my ear;
The rustle of grass, the stir of a crown
I hols back my breath to hear.


Here and there,
Though the sky's unseen,
Down to the bottom right through Molbek,
Either a pool or a puddle gleam
with the same deep, bottomless blue.


Don't mind that the birds must soon depart,
That the leaves fall down all around.
The Ducks leave Molbek and Mosseskogen,
I've picked up a song, when walking and climbing
To the Røysåsen's hills, and it lives in my heart,
And the words-well, they'll soon be found.