The Raging Rapids, Peder Mork Mønsted (n.d.)
Ranging river flooded into my heart,
Suffocating, surely I will be drowned.
Its power so great to tear me apart,
Can this really be love that I found?
Kidnapped by aches and pains and nervous twitch,
Twisting and turning, can’t sleep in my bed.
Desire new feeling for which I may switch,
To rid me of this swirling in my head.
How I hunger but unable to eat,
Stomach tighter than a Gordian knot.
Shivering yet sweating from intense heat,
Visits to countless doctors are for naught.
If this be love, I know not what to do,
Should this be my reward for loving you?
Snow Scene through a Winter Window, Henry Alexander (1870)
Under blankets, another frigid night
Could feel aching chill in my weary bones
Feared what horror there would be my first sight
Feeling confident would be many moans
Looking through button holes, saw the bright white
Tired of the piling up of winter’s snow
This freezing matter is no longer trite
Miserable stuff really must go
A death row prisoner is what I am
Give me my last meal and be done with it
Never have been fan of winter’s program
Ever bored of doing nothing but sit
For the joy of spring I hunger and thirst
Can I survive, it’s but November first