Arne Garborg:

Against the rising sun

An elven land of peaks and moors,
 Arising from the sea,
Is resting in an evening fair:
 A bluest border free.

I often saw it vapor veiled
 Behind a foggy mist:
A secretive and holy house
 Remote and out of reach.

The peaked and pretty row asleep,
 Lies boundless in its dreams,
Then for a moment set alight
 A burning fire gleams.

The evening comes with burning blood
 In bog with bluest hail.
It burns with glimmering and glows –
 A long-lost fairy-tale.

Glaziers burn; they shake and shine
 In visions richly made.
The air alight with glow of wine,
 Silver, and with jade!

And yet the bleak and burning blaze
 Will die with fading light,
And once again the elven land
 Lies bathed in the night.

On tired tracks I often longed
 To know that distant scene.
And yet its true it only shows
 When everything‚Äôs been seen.

From Haugtussa (1895).
Translated by Torgeir Fjeld.