Page:A Book of Czech Verse.pdf/67

 A biting wind drove on The distant, gloomy cloud; On birds unsleeping, shimmering starlight fell. One sings among the grass, One in the apple tree, And pours its pearls within each flowery bell.

A light is winking through A cottage window pane; A moth is flying whitely round the glow. I closer gaze; and there With candle raised, a girl Is standing where a coffin lies below.

Snow-haired, and pale of face, A child of sixteen years: For brother, sister small, a tear-drop steals And quivers at her eye, Then falls upon her hands: What sadness now her childish sweetness feels!

I passed before that child In reverence evoked By maiden’s sorrow, child’s serenity. Amid her bitter loss I felt, like holy grace, How sacred death—and virgin purity.