Page:Modern Czech Poetry, 1920.djvu/61

Rh

My day lit up the crops of stainless corn Where sounded many a timid woman's tread And myriad gladsome strophes dew-bespread When every breast with early yearning thrilled, A rose-plot each within my garden tilled And waited, till in dreams it should be born.

My friends tilled likewise; full a hundred sprays And trees and vines they planted. At the end Of years and autumn-tides, when in a blend The yellow leafage gushes blood and gold. When ripens all, as from a bronzen mould, When in the sunlight all is glow and blaze,

Behold, the rose, the grape, late-mellowed. All To me in love and friendship passing fair. Their hour, in sooth. I shall not tarry, ere I cull them in, else, bending to my feet 'Neath their own weight, in grasses dewy-sweet, Fragrant in their departing, they will fall “The Harvests” (1913).