Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875) wrote the words for “I Love You”

Min Tankes Tanke ene du er vorden, Du er mit Hjertes første Kærlighed. Jeg elsker Dig, som Ingen her på Jorden, Jeg elsker Dig i Tid og Evighed!
You have become the single thought of my thoughts, you are the first love of my heart. I love you as no one else here on Earth, I love you for time and eternity!

Henrik Ibsen (1828-1906) is the author of “The Swan”

Min hvide svane du stumme, du stille, hverken slag eller trille lod sangrøst ane.

Angst beskyttende alfen, som sover, altid lyttende gled du henover.

Men sidste mødet, da eder og øjne var lønlige løgne, ja da, da lød det!

I toners føden du slutted din bane. Du sang i døden; du var dog en svane!

My swan, my pale one, of silence unbroken;? of thy voice ne’er a token or sound did assail one.

Shyly hiding from elves that thou dreadest, -list’ning, gliding,? thou timidly fleddest.

Aloft thou sprangest? as death was o’ertaking thy life-silence breaking, at last thou sangest!

That song so cherished for ever is gone then? the singer has perished. Wert only a swan then?

The words for “Fra Monte Pincio” were written by Bjønstjerne Bjørnson (1832-1910)

Aftenen kommer, Solen staar rød; Farvende Straaler i Rummet henskylle Lyslængsel’ns Glands i uendelig Fylde; — Fjeldet forklares som Aasyn i Død. Kuplerne gløder, men længere borte Taagen langs Markernes blaalige Sorte Vugger opover som Glemselen før: Over hin Dal dækker tusind Aars Slør. Aft’nen, hvor rød og varm, Blusser af Folkelarm, Glødende Hornmusik, Blomster og brune Blik. — Tankerne stræber i Farver og Toner Trofast mod det, som forsoner. Stille det bliver, end dunklere blaa, Himmelen vaager og venter; — opunder Fortid, som drømmer, og Fremtid, som stunder, Usikre Blus i det rugende Graa! Men de vil samle sig! Roma fremstige Lystændt en Nat for Italiens Rige: Klokkerne kime, Kanonerne slaa, Minderne flamme paa Fremtidens Blaa! — Yndigt om Haab og Tro Op mod Nygifte to, Jubler en Sanger til Cither og Fløjtespil. Stærkere Længsler faar barnesød Hvile; — Mindre tør vaagne og smile.

Evening how tender! Sunset how red!? All with a roseate glow is enlightened,? basking in sunshine the mountain is brightened, rapt and serene as the face of the dead. Domes in the sweet scented distance are gleaming, mists blue and grey o’er the meadows come streaming, rolling adown as oblivion has roll’d, weaving a garment a thousand year old. Gleameth all red and warm, ev’ning falls, people swarm; mountain horns sound above, flower-scent, looks of love. All heart could wish gleams and bounds sweetly near us, yearning for beauty to cheer us. Deepens the stillness, darkens the day,? and from the ghosts of the past thus beholding Heaven is surely the future unfolding, shimmering vaguely in gathering grey. But, like a beacon, will Rome one day waken, brighten the darkness of Italy forsaken; tocsins will echo and cannon will roar! Fiercely will blaze out the spirit of yore. Wedding strain, sound amain!? Flute so gay, zither play!? Out of time’s seroll impart? hope to the trusting heart!? Italy, look to the blest goal unshaken; tenderer feelings will waken.

Bjørnson was also the author of “Hidden Love”

Han tvær over Bænkene hang; hun lystig i Dandsen sig svang. Hun legte, hun lo, med En og med To; — hans Hjerte var nærved at briste. Men det var der Ingen, som vidste.

Hun gikk bag ved Laden den Kveld, han kom for at sige Farvel. Hun kasted’ sig ned, hun græd og hun græd, sit Livs Haab, det skulde hun miste. Men det var der Ingen, som vidste.

Ham Tiden faldt frygtelig lang. Saa kom han tilbage engang. — Hun havde det godt; hun Fred havde faa’t; hun tænkte paa ham i det Sidste. Men det var der Ingen, som vidste.

He kept to the bench While she danced all the time. She played and she smiled with one and with two And his heart was close to bursting But no one was aware of this.

She slipped behind the barn that evening He came to say goodbye. She fell to the ground and wept and wept. She would miss her hop in life. But no one was aware of this.

Time seemed so long to him And he came back once again. She was all right, for she had found peace And she thought of him to the end; But no one was aware of this.


Aasmund Olavsson Vinje (1818-1870) wrote the poetry for “The Last Spring”

Enno ein Gong fekk eg Vetren at sjå? for Våren at røma;? Heggen med Tre som der Blomar var på, eg atter såg bløma. ? Enno ein Gong fekk eg Isen at sjå frå Landet at fljota,? Snjoen at bråna og Fossen i Å? at fyssa og brjota. ?Graset det grøne eg enno ein Gong fekk skoda med Blomar;? enno eg høyrde at Vårfuglen song mot Sol og mot Sumar. ?Eingong eg sjølv i den vårlege Eim som mettar mit Auga,? eingong eg der vil meg finna ein Heim og symjande lauga. Alt det som Våren imøte meg bar og Blomen eg plukkad’,? Federnes Ånder eg trudde det var, som dansad’ og sukkad’, Derfor eg fann millom Bjørkar og Bar i Våren ei Gåta;? derfor det Ljod i den Fløyta eg skar, meg tyktes at gråta.
Yes, once again winter’s face would I see to Spring’s glory waning,? white-thorn outspreading its clusters so free in beauty en chaining. Once more behold from the earth day by day the ice disappearing,? snow melting fast and in thunder and spray the river careering. Emerald meadows, your flow’rets I’d spy and hail each newcomer,?l isten again to the lark in the sky? who warbles of summer. Once more I’m drawn to the Spring-gladdened vale that stilleth my longing;? there I find sunlight and rest without fail,? and raptures come thronging.? All unto which here the Spring giveth birth, each flow’r I have riven,? seems to me now I am parting from the earth a spirit from Heaven.? Therefore I hear all around from the ground mysterious singing,? music from reeds that of old I made sound, like sighs faintly ringing.