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appearance in public, and was cheeringly encouraged
when a child; here, poor and sorrowful, she has
shed tears, when her voice left her, and sent up
pious prayers to her Maker. From hence the
world’s nightingale flew out over distant lands,
and proclaimed the purity and holiness of art.
How beautiful it is to look out from the
window up here, to look over the water and the
Streamparterre to that great, magnificent palace,
to Ladegaards land, with the large barracks, to
Skipholmen and the rocks that rise straight up
from the water, with Södermalm’s gardens,
villas, streets, and church cupolas between the
green trees: the ships lie there together, so
many and so close, with their waving flags.
The beautiful, that a poet’s eye sees, the world
may also see! Roll, ye runes!
There sketches the whole varied prospect; a
rainbow extends its arch like a frame around it.
Only see! it is sunset, the sky becomes cloudy
over Södermalm, the grey sky becomes darker
and darker – a pitch-dark ground – and on it
rests a double rainbow. The houses are
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