Nils Ferlin (Dec. 11, 1898 - 1961) was an excellent Swedish poet whose melancholy Modernism appeals greatly to me. His youth was spent playing football and brawling, but by the late 20s he had gone from being a cabaret singer and comedian to a full-blown poet. He was very well-loved in his day, and seen as a Bohemian figure about town in Stockholm.
Here is a tongue-in-cheek love poem by Ferlin, “in folk-song fashion”:
In Folk-song Fashion
Love comes along, love drifts away No-one can tell us the reasons. But here by thy side, love, I know I shall stay through all the passing seasons.
My heart, it is thine; thy heart, it is mine and mine shall remain till I die. My happiness, thine; thy happiness, mine - thy tears, they are mine when thou cryest.
Love is so strong, so wondrously strong - naught in the world makes it yield. Roses spring up from the hardest of ground as sunshine spreads over dark fields.
My heart, it is thine; thy heart, it is mine and mine shall remain till I die. My happiness, thine; thy happiness, mine - thy tears, they are mine when thou cryest.
