Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/96

92  O, it into a cloud, as ye,
 * Might be transformed my ponderings,

And soar unto the ends of earth
 * Upon their dusky raven wings!

On Cheskian hills amid their flight,
 * They would perforce awhile descend,

And with a rainbow-radiant smile
 * E'en 'mid their tears a greeting send.

 František Kvapil (b. 1855).

Love 'mid the flowers is softly singing, And greeting bringing; Its golden threads the sun doth shake, Awake, my beauteous child, awake, To slumber clinging!

The golden bees 'mid clover fly, Swarming by; Full of play and mirth to-day, A wondrous thing, this morn of May Has risen on high.

And dost thou in this hour of gladness Gaze with such sadness? Spring-tide o'er the earth is pouring, Like to the lark thou shouldst be soaring In rapturous madness. 