Excerpts from
Willow Pipes
By Sophus Claussen
IN AN ORCHARD
Did a storm fall upon the sunny expanse?
My soul, like linens in the breeze;
and a lightning-edged cascade of thunder
showered rain over green leaves.
When it grew still, you were mine.
Moist on the paths between the gooseberries,
there’s fragrance, now it is still,
from the drenched grass and the many
cherry blossoms resplendent,
clear against a sea of air so bright.
Let me wander here by your side,
lovely dark-eyed girl,
your blossom-white hands
slip about my waist,
you, my proud supple vine.
Press your cheek, apple blossom pink,
against mine, and on my mouth a kiss.
Sweet fragrant are your lips,
but the gentlest caresses glow
from the dark depths of your eyes.
When I have drawn your arm about my neck,
and your bosom’s close to my heart,
I hear your gentlest sighing;
then I don’t feel the cold of the dew;
then I tremble blissful-bouyant.
The fruit blossoms’ splendour is enhanced
against the sunset blue;
before me two wondering eyes,
before me your bosom and your bare
arm around my neck.
You walk in dampness, chaste maiden,
spiced with the orchard’s scent.
Let us kiss, silent and alone!
We, like branches of the apple
tree must flower and bear fruit.
Translated by Henry Meyer
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