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" Where in pale blue ranks arise
Alps that rim the mountain valley ;
Where above the crystal spring Blooms the snow-white apple-tree,
And in tracks of snow you see
Wild white roses blossoming ;
Where a stream begins its song
Like a wind-harp low and muffled,
Murmuring through the moss and stones;
Then among the alders moans,
Rushes out, involved and ruffled,
By a youthful impulse driven,
Foaming, till it reach the vale,
And, like David with his harp,
From a shepherd made a king
By the songs that it can sing,
Triumphs through the listening dale."
Norwegian
http://www.oldandsold.com/arti...hern-studies-1.shtml
