Clouds, waves and cliffs...
How warm your hand is!
The futility of words, cries of birds, me
And the roar of the North Sea.
The wind sings in its rushing stand
That every thing will come to an end.
Earthly life is fleeting —
The moment is still beating!
Will we ever from oblivion keep
Our fates' strange interlacing grip?
Clouds, waves and cliffs...
Heavens! how warm the hand is!
Lindesnes