When Norse nature's dower <br />Tones will paint with power, <br />There is more than mountain-heights that tower,- <br />Plains spread wide-extending, <br />Whereon at their wending <br />Summer nights soft dews are sending. <br /> <br />Forests great are growing, <br />And in long waves going <br />Glommen's valley fill to overflowing,- <br />There are green slopes vernal, <br />Glad with joy fraternal, <br />Open to the light supernal. <br /> <br />For revealing wholly <br />All things fine and holy- <br />As in sunshine birds are soaring slowly, <br />Or, their spells transmitting, <br />Northern Lights are flitting,- <br />None but maiden-hands are fitting. <br /> <br /> <br />Your <br />hands came, and playing, <br />O'er their secrets straying <br />Picture after picture are portraying, <br />As the poet dreamed them, <br />In soul-travail teemed them, <br />Till your artist hands redeemed them. <br /> <br />Now their light far-flinging <br />We see flashing, swinging, <br />Sparks as from your father's humor springing; <br />Now there meets us nigher, <br />Mirroring the higher, <br />Mother's eye of softer fire. <br /> <br />Child-heart tones are holding <br />All our minds and molding, <br />So its faith the wide world is enfolding, <br />While your sweet sounds sally, <br />Truth to tell and rally, <br />Maiden blonde from Glommen's valley.<br /><br />Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-erika-lie/
