Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/70

66 Tho' lifeless on my bed I lie, Ever 'neath God's might am I.

I am ever 'neath God's might, Who protects me night by night.

Tho' I sleep as dead, at morn My spirit bank to me is borne.

I rise at morn from weakness freed, For 'twas thus by God decreed."

Wife, these words of thine are naught, For thy husband guards his thought.

At a fire an aged soul Water pours from bowl to bowl.

Cauldrons twelve stand in a row,— The husband for her aid doth go.

Mother, hear! thy skill is great, Know'st what each has to await.

Know'st how plague comes into being, Where the Maid of Death is fleeing.

Tell me, now, with clearness, this: What is with my bride amiss?