And here’s the grove,
where the cuckoo sang,
small lasses ran there free,
a barefoot and ragged-skirted gang
plucked berries round each tree,
and here there was sunshine
and here was shade
and butterfly orchids in the glade,
I love that grove so fair,
my childhood whispers there. ...
Och här är dungen,
där göken gol,
små töser sprungo här
med bara fötter och trasig kjol
att plocka dungens bär,
och här var det skugga
och här var sol
och här var det gott om nattviol,
den dungen är mig kär,
min barndom susar där.
English translation Mike McArthur
I hope you're having a lovely Tuesday!
One of my favourite poets is the Swedish poet Gustav Fröding (1860-1911). He was from Värmland, the county where I'm from and he was in fact born only a couple of miles from where I live (you can find some of his poetry translated into English). Värmland is a county full of ancient sagas, oral stories and litterature. I can tell you all about it some other time 😊 Until then I thought you'd like an excerpt from 'Strövtåg i hembygden' (1896).