I hesitate to call this graffiti, but whatever it is, I love it. It doesn’t hurt that the verse is by my favourite poet, Tómas Guðmundsson:
My attempt at a translation:
By the edge of the dock the town has fallen into a trance,
and lowly hovels are turned into heavenly temples.
And overhead the northern lights perform an all-night dance
in naked glory across the roadless sky.
From Tunglskinsnætur by Tómas Guðmundsson (1901-1983)