Molde, Molde, <br />True as a song, <br />Billowy rhythms whose thoughts fill with love me, <br />Follow thy form in bright colors above me, <br />Bear thy beauty along. <br />Naught is so black as thy fjord, when storm-lashes <br />Sea-salted scourge it and inward it dashes, <br />Naught is so mild as thy strand, as thine islands, <br />Ah, as thine islands! <br />Naught is so strong as thy mountain-linked ring, <br />Naught is so sweet as thy summer-nights bring. <br />Molde, Molde, <br />True as a song, <br />Murm'ring memories throng. <br /> <br />Molde, Molde, <br />Flower-o'ergrown, <br />Houses and gardens where good friends wander! <br />Hundreds of miles away,-but I'm yonder <br />'Mid the roses full-blown. <br />Strong shines the sun on that mountain-rimmed beauty, <br />Fast is the fight, let each man do his duty. <br />Friends, who your favor would never begrudge me, <br />Gently now judge me!- <br />Only with life ends the fight for the right. <br />Thought flees to you for a refuge in light. <br />Molde, Molde, <br />Flower-o'ergrown, <br />Childhood's memories' throne. <br /> <br />Oh, may at last <br />In thine embrace, life's fleeting <br />Conflict past, <br />Glad thine evening-glory greeting, <br />-Where life let thought awaken,- <br />My thought by death be taken!<br /><br />Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-molde/
