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Original: Poem by Þórarinn Eldjárn.
In Hlíðarenda Cemetery
Here you ended your long walk.
The artist is a puppeteer.
Embraces you in its summer warmth
The country you have always loved most.
My dear, so many people got to hear
your music and well-considered training
though it sounded to your inner ear
even then a purer tone than the people discerned.
Do you sleep in grace here in a high garden?
Hillside, loose soil and turf.
Birds are flocking here, your fat rose is a shield
I also feel it now as I stand and watch
on the beautiful hillside, the river, the islet, Dímon
What a fantastic poet Simon was.
In Hlíðarenda Cemetery
Here you ended your long walk.
The artist is a puppeteer.
Embraces you in its summer warmth
The country you have always loved most.
My dear, so many people got to hear
your music and well-considered training
though it sounded to your inner ear
even then a purer tone than the people discerned.
Do you sleep in grace here in a high garden?
Hillside, loose soil and turf.
Birds are flocking here, your fat rose is a shield
I also feel it now as I stand and watch
on the beautiful hillside, the river, the islet, Dímon
What a fantastic poet Simon was.