From Dan Andersson's surviving poems in the collection Visor och ballader
I know not if fuller joy is to be had
than when your lips are quivering with tears,
if we ever live as limitlessly as we did then,
when your forehead is wet with anxiety.
And none came so whole and clean
to the everyday room of happiness,
as the one who was with himself all
a night of harrowing anguish.
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