Poèmes De Agnes Grozier Herbertson

The Seed-Merchant

The Seed-Merchant has lost his son,
His dear, his loved, his only one.

So young he was, Even now it seems
He was a child with a child’s dreams.

He would race over the meadow-bed
With his bright, bright eyes and his cheeks all red.

Fair and healthy and long of limb;
It made one young just to look at him.

His school books, unto the cupboard thrust,
Have scarcely had time to gather dust.

Died in the war….And it seems his eyes
Must have looked at death with a child’s surprise.

The Seed-Merchant goes on his way:
I saw him out on his land today;

Old to have fathered so young a son,
And now the last glint of his youth is gone.

What could one say to him in his need?
Little there seemed to say indeed.

So still he was that the birds flew round
The grey of his head without a sound,

Careless and tranquil in the air,
As if naught human were standing there.

On, never a soul could understand
Why he looked at the earth, and the seed in his hand,

As he had never before seen seed or sod:
I heard him murmur: ‘Thank God, thank God!’

Agnes Grozier Herbertson

Things To Wear

If you wear a woven ring
Made of grass
You can hear the fairies sing
As they pass
You can hear them rush and scurry
When they're rather in a hurry.
If you wear a daisy chain
Neat and strong
You can hear the goblin train
Rush along.
You can hear it hoot and whistle
As it dives beneath a thistle.
If you lace two grassy blades
In your shoe
You can dream of fairy glades,
Fairies, too.
If you've found a four-leafed clover
You can dream this four times over

Agnes Grozier Herbertson


Très peu d'information sur cette poète norvégienne née aux alentours de 1875.