Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/86

82   Yea, joy there is. Young hearts with love it fills, Faces with radiance, souls with song, and flowers With dew with reconciliation ills. Life is a book, read joyously in sooth, When every page speaks fragrance to our soul, And radiance, warmth, sweet tenderness to youth. Some ever from afar behold their joys, Whose life is but a leaf torn from a book, That in the fire a maiden's hand destroys.

"" (1893).

 Ant. Klášterský (b. 1866).

O'er Prague the setting sun lies low, Darker the cloister garden doth grow.

Darker and darker beneath our gaze; The nuns still wander along its ways.

The bell has chimed and chillness is spread, Thro' the gloomy gate has the last one sped.

The desolate garden, O child, behold, To the song of the crickets the gloom doth enfold. 