and sighing
Amid radiance slumbering and fragrances dying,
Amid trembling ringing, amid rising singing:
In longing,
In longing,
I live."

Then silence fell again. Mogens drew a long breath and listened
intently: no more singing; up in the house a door was heard. Now he
clearly heard the sound from the leaves of the silver poplar. He bowed
his head in his arms and wept.

The next day was one of those in which late summer is rich. A day with
a brisk, cool wind, with many large swiftly flying clouds, with
everlasting alternations of darkness and light, according as the clouds
drift past the sun. Mogens had gone up to the cemetery, the garden of
the manor abutted on it. Up there it looked rather barren, the grass
had recently been cut; behind an old quadrangular iron-fence stood a
wide-spreading, low elder with waving foliage. Some of the graves had
wooden frames around them, most were only low, quadrangular hills; a
few of them had metal-pieces with inscriptions on them, others wooden
crosses from which the colors had peeled, others had wax wreaths, the
greater number had nothing at all. Mogens wandered about hunting for a
sheltered place, but the wind seemed to blow on all sides of the church.
He threw himself down near the embankment, drew a book out of his
pocket; but he did not get on with his reading; every time when a cloud
went past the sun, it seemed to him as though it were growing chilly,
and he thought of getting up, but then the light came again and he
remained lying. A young girl came slowly along the way, a greyhound and
a pointer ran playfully ahead of her. She stopped and it seemed as if
she wanted to sit down, but when she saw Mogens she continued her walk
diagonally across the cemetery out through the gate. Mogens rose and
looked after her; she walked down on the main road, the dogs still
played. Then he began reading the inscription on one of the graves;
it quickly made him smile. Suddenly a shadow fell across the grave and
remained lying there, Mogens looked sideways. A tanned, young man stood
there, one hand in his game-bag, in the other he held his gun.

"It isn't really half bad," he said, indicating the inscription.

"No," said Mogens and straightened up from his bent position.

"Tell me," continued the hunter, and looked to the side, as if seeking
something, "you have been here for a couple of days, and I have been
going about wondering about you, but up to the present didn't come near