Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/218

194

 Whose may be the feet that don Crystal shoon you gaze upon? Ice in pillars, lustre, snow, Dainty, flaky, pearly glow.

Strait the passage, slender, long, Reaching realms where splendours throng; But to find the path you need, You must set your foot with heed. 



moons are twinkling On curving and delicate bands; The telegraph wires are tinkling In tender, invisible hands.

The clocks with their amber faces By magic are lit o'er the crowd; Of stillness the cooling traces The thirst-ridden pavement enshroud.

'Neath a net that quivers enchanted, The square lies hushed in the haze; The evening has smilingly planted A kiss on the harlot's gaze.

