Happy Artists
For hours together "sä-ker-hets-tänd-stickor"
And say: "The Swedish language sounds like hell."
I soon made friends and, better yet, what ho!
One day my youthful happiness was doubled
When o'er the threshold slouched a fresh "nouveau,"
And I had rest while he in turn was troubled.
And say: "The Swedish language sounds like hell."
I soon made friends and, better yet, what ho!
One day my youthful happiness was doubled
When o'er the threshold slouched a fresh "nouveau,"
And I had rest while he in turn was troubled.
We were like mad-cap boys and acted so.
What painter lacks the impulse or the leisure
To climb forthwith the giddiest peak of pleasure,
When his tobacco and his punch-bowl glow,
Like sunny morning with new-fallen snow,
Such was the spirit of our band's employment.
What clamor at the Café Star there was
Among these men, who sent their brains to grass
And took the whole world for their eyes' enjoyment!
Across their pencil-butts benignly gazing,
They saw the gorgeous town and the attire
Of long-gloved ladies, costumes quite amazing:
Their eyes' delight was all they could desire.
What painter lacks the impulse or the leisure
To climb forthwith the giddiest peak of pleasure,
When his tobacco and his punch-bowl glow,
Like sunny morning with new-fallen snow,
Such was the spirit of our band's employment.
What clamor at the Café Star there was
Among these men, who sent their brains to grass
And took the whole world for their eyes' enjoyment!
Across their pencil-butts benignly gazing,
They saw the gorgeous town and the attire
Of long-gloved ladies, costumes quite amazing:
Their eyes' delight was all they could desire.
And yet their handwork never wholly filled me,
Though I with charcoal sought to play my part.
I had at home a shelf of books that thrilled me.
I scanned the world through printed symbol swart,
And through the beggar's rags I strove to see
The inner man. I looked unceasingly
With my cold mind and with my burning heart.
Time's war-cry in the din I could betoken.
In wrath I gripped my charcoal with the will
Though I with charcoal sought to play my part.
I had at home a shelf of books that thrilled me.
I scanned the world through printed symbol swart,
And through the beggar's rags I strove to see
The inner man. I looked unceasingly
With my cold mind and with my burning heart.
Time's war-cry in the din I could betoken.
In wrath I gripped my charcoal with the will
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