Included in the poetry collection Nya dikter, 1894.
Now I'm sick of the schism of time
between earth and stars.
Our idealism and realism
they split our brains.
It lies when portrayed gravel
gets the name of art and imagination.
A vision that floats fair and bright
in the sky, is true as mirage.
But nonsense is nonsense and snuff is snuff,
albeit in golden doses,
and roses in a cracked mug
are still always roses.
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