Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/116

112 

I know that the setting sun will quench the fear of the coming morn, And that before a new blossom the old one is slain by a chilling blight; Visions, all visions grow mute at the vision of souls new-bom, And God in His temples trembles at new gods that rise to smite.

How silent and cheerless and bare! I was yesterday in my bloom, Till I shall come to perceive that I am fading to-day, And I close my shrine for ever and the bells will peal my doom, And my lamp no longer will burn, and empty will be my way.

"" (1897).

 

The Eagles would higher and higher rise,
 * E'en where the heart would have flown—

To the rugged crag beyond thine eyes,
 * Where one may perish alone.

