J. L. Runeberg (Finnish poet)


Simply enjoy the beautiful poetry and web site of J. L. Runeberg, the national poet of Finland. Personally, I find excellent poetry not unlike great music–both are universal languages and one need not know the words being spoken or sung to recognize the beauty contained within.

(This one is especially for Distillery reader, Zen Realist. Thanks for dropping me the e-mail, Zen. You are becoming a much-appreciated inspiration.)

Graphic of J. L. Runeberg

3 Responses to “J. L. Runeberg (Finnish poet)”

  1. Zen Realist Says:

    Thank YOU, Sippin. Believe me, the pleasure and appreciation are all mine.

  2. SippinWhisky Says:

    They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
    Out of a misty dream
    Our path emerges for a while, then closes,
    Within a dream.

    ~from a poem by Ernest Dowson

  3. Zen Realist Says:

    Cast off the shroud of mists and tear the sleep from thine eyes,
    thou that hast a sweet and bold spirit!

    Stand boldly upon thine dream and wickedest treachery.

    Draw me, we will run after thee: the king hath brought me into his chambers: we will be glad and rejoice in thee, we will remember thy love more than wine: the upright love thee.

    I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon.

    Look not upon me, because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me …

    Behold, thou art fair, my beloved … also our bed is green.

    The beams of our house are cedar, and our rafters of fir …

    I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys. As the lily among thorns, so is my love …

    As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved … I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste. …

    Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love …

    For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;

    The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;

    The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.

    Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.

    Who is this that cometh out of the wilderness like pillars of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, with all powders of the merchant? …

    … They all hold swords, being expert in war: every man hath his sword upon his thigh because of fear in the night. …

    King Solomon hath made the pillars thereof of silver, the bottom thereof of gold, the covering of it of purple, the midst thereof being paved with love …

    … Behold King Solomon with the crown wherewith his mother crowned him … like a black pearl be thoust more rare. Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.

    Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense.

    Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits; camphire, with spikenard,

    Spikenard and saffron; calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense; myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices:

    A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon.
    Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.

    Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field; let us lodge in the villages.

    Let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth: there will I give thee my loves.

    The mandrakes give a smell, and at our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, new and old, which I have laid up for thee, O my beloved.

    Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.

    Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned.

    Solomon … let out his vineyard unto keepers; every one for the fruit thereof was to bring a thousand pieces of silver.

    My vineyard, which is mine, is before me: thou, O Solomon, must have a thousand, and those that keep the fruit thereof two hundred.

    Thou that dwellest in the gardens, the companions hearken to thy voice: cause me to hear it.

    Make haste, my beloved, and be thou like to a roe or to a young hart upon the mountains of spices.

    Despair not. The path for love truly lived in depth and sweetness

    Is eternal as Zen zen reality.

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