Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/285

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fishponds are as moulded silver shed With streaks of shadow under clouded skies, Amid green herbage of the meadow spread Like to the country's gentle, tender eyes. Here pines the snipe in rushes near the shores, Here is the teal, whose greenish plumage plays In colours of the rainbow when he soars Far off amid the sun's bespangled blaze; Cooler are meadows where the sweet-flag grows, And with the after-math its fragrance blends; By wavelets cooled, the air in ripples flows, And something sighs, like grief that never ends. "From My Country" (1893). 



of the concert-hall, as I were drunken, Amid the bustle of the throng I staggered The seats clattered, and the lamp-bulbs stifled Their bluish glimmer. Mingled fragrances Floated above the jostle of living creatures From shawls in which the ladies wrapped themselves Still in the practice-room the pizzicato Of a violin sobbed tenderly near by, 