When <br />comes the real morning? <br />When golden, the sun's rays hover <br />Over the earth's snow-cover, <br />And where the shadows nestle, <br />Wrestle, <br />Lifting lightward the root enringèd <br />Till it shall seem an angel wingèd, <br />Then it is morning, <br />Real, real morning. <br />But if the weather is bad <br />And my spirit sad, <br />Never morning I know. <br />No. <br /> <br />Truly, it's real morning, <br />When blossom the buds winter-beaten, <br />The birds having drunk and eaten <br />Are glad as they sing, divining <br />Shining <br />Great new crowns to the tree-tops given, <br />Cheering the brooks to the broad ocean riven. <br />Then it is morning, <br />Real, real morning. <br />But if the weather is bad <br />And my spirit sad, <br />Never morning I know. <br />No. <br /> <br /> <br />When <br />comes the real morning? <br />When power to conquer parries <br />Sorrow and storm, and carries <br />Sun to the soul, whose burning <br />Yearning <br />Opens in love and calls to others: <br />Good to be unto all as brothers. <br /> <br />Then <br />it is morning, <br />Real, real morning. <br />Greatest power you know <br />-And most dangerous, lo!- <br />Will you <br />this <br />then possess? <br />Yes.<br /><br />Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-comes-the-morning/
