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  • 'No,' said the lad, 'I will not go,
    for I have not done anything wrong, and I have no reason to be afraid.'

    (Halvor, from the Tale of Soria Moria Castle)

    Why would a lad be looking
    far, far away?
    For whom is it shining Soria Moria,
    far, far away?

    Is it auburn-gold from its hilltop,
    that beckons from langt, langt borte?
    Who can grasp the light that it’s beaming,
    half of what’s hid in a heart?

    Forest & valley is everything,
    a way through the mists in the dark!
    Not glitter of wishes nor a bright castle home
    is the matter of what really must count.

    Can you walk with me early at frembrudd,
    accompany me under the moon?
    Is your pack laden heavy or light as the dawn,
    prepared to protect us from us?

    Is the sun too high for fishing,
    is the wood too wet to fire?
    Are the matches you stowed
    in that sweater still dry?

    Hark there, on a singular perch
    rests a beautiful beautiful bird.
    Plaintively, hauntingly song of the north,
    for none but the lonely birch.

    Shrill its disturbance awakes the calm lake,
    glassy green surface shadowed with pine.
    Softly, so slightly vestavind stirs
    leading the way to Soria Moria.

    Stay behind if you need to,
    stay well in safety & calm
    return to a hilltop of waiting
    till the bird in the birch is done.

    What I might & could be
    is far, far away.
    Time enough there is plenty
    far, far away.
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