Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/103

Rh  Wild poppies in the sun-light sway—- Where am I, when they fade away?

"" (1903).

 Jan Neruda (1834—1891).

Know'st thou, dear mother, of the golden sun,
 * And of his mother—legend passing fair,

Who, night by night upon her withered breast
 * To slumber lulls her son far spent with care?

Yea, the poor wight must rove enough, enough,
 * Yea, all the day he thro' the world must go,

Enough grey mists and tempests, gloomy clouds,
 * Almost as much as man bears here below.

A grey-beard he lies down, a youth he rises,
 * With new-gained strength afresh o'er heaven runs,—

O mother, mother, yea, thou righteous angel,—
 * My need is e'en as grievous as the sun's.

"" (1867). 