Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/69

Rh Mistress mine, thou wife of gold, Doth some sickness thee enfold?

If by sickness thou'rt dismayed, Let wise counsel be thine aid.

Many herbs are in the field, Thou perchance by one art healed.

But if herbs can naught avail, A potent spell can never fail.

Clouds to a potent spell will yield, That ships in the raging storm can shield.

A potent spell o'er fire holds sway, Books can shatter, dragons slay.

A gleaming star from heaven can rend, A potent spell thy weal can send".

O husband mine, so dear to me, Let no vain word trouble thee.

What was fated at my birth, To no balm will yield on earth.

"What has been decreed by fate, At man's word will not abate. B