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- Death, the Deliverer
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Death, the Deliverer
My shadowy friend, Death, the deliverer, came
in August, when the nights were pale with
moonlight, to the house of Captain Uggla.
He dared not go directly to that hospitable home,
for there are few who love him, and he who frees
the soul from the burdensome flesh and opens to it
the glorious life of the spheres does not want to be
greeted with sobs and tears, but rather with mute
joy. His delight is to ride through the air on fiery
cannon-balls, he bears on his neck the hissing shell
and laughs when it bursts, and the fragments fly.
He whirls in the ghost-dance at the churchyard,
stalks boldly into the pest wards of the hospital,
but stands trembling at the threshold of the good
man’s home. Into the old birch grove behind the
house he stole; in the grove, then full of
protecting green, my shadowy friend concealed himself
by day, but at night he could be seen standing near
the edge of the wood, his scythe gleaming in the
moonlight.
O Eros! Thou art the god that ever and anon
hast guarded that grove. Old people tell how in
times gone by lovers sought its seclusion, and now
when I drive past Berga Manor, grumbling at the
rocky road and the stifling dust, it gladdens my
heärt to see that grove with its silver-stemmed
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Project Runeberg, Sun Dec 10 03:55:33 2023
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