Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/301

Rh 

the drab air what sultry surfeit Lies! Still through sparse leaves the sunset flares, and throws Sparks in the river; a last lustre glows In windows, as it were in dying eyes.

And lamp with lamp down yonder, ghost-like, vies A hundred-fold; like distant thunder-blows Carts rumble on; like crags in shattered rows Pillars of Trocadero dusk-ward rise.

Twilight has faded; all is ashen-gray. The spectral arches of the bridges wane. Yet life still pulses there in seething husk.

Whither are bound these thousands on their way? The soul in this strange eddy quails with pain, And likewise shrouds it in the ashen dusk. "What Life Gave" (1883). 



Brother Zeno after meat was sleeping, A mountain-gnome stood in his cell's drab haze, Where through the window, with its thousand lays The forest peeped and fragrances were sweeping.

