Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/130

126 Karel de Wetter (b. 1882).

Serenely the country sleeps in the gloom,
 * It seems like to a grave-yard there,

Or like unto one mighty tomb,
 * Where I betake myself for prayer.

Like unto wraiths the trees are dreaming,
 * Rigid is every leaf thereon,—

The moon is on the waters gleaming,
 * Like to the image of a swan.

Afar from a window somewhere is playing
 * A piano o'er lands in dream held fast,—

As if in longing someone were praying
 * For the paradise, vanished in days long past.

As if from a bosom wounded sore,
 * The sound of frenzied laughter were pressed;

And as if lovers that are no more
 * Blent in kisses were gone to rest.

I feel as if o'er the land there stole
 * A grievous sorrow without a sound—

And this, methinks, is Schumann's soul,
 * That in lonely places roams around.

(1911).