The Collected Poetry

On the Coast of Norway

Old, rugged, vast, of many shape,

I sit in the valley of fjords.

By furious cold was formed this cape

Dashing pebbles as waves escape.

Distant mountains are my noble lords.

In reverend silence, I, walking

Do not talk, useless are my words

Around me cascading water-swords

Do far better a job talking,

Than ever poor I could suffice

And the white cliff top ice shines,

Despite the cold that feels like burning.

On the North sea I realize:

I am but a dull and weak ape.

I spent three days; and thrice

I was among the Gods of Ice.