Page:Poet Lore, volume 34, 1923.djvu/15



knowing well that I strew my simple flowers not on the grave of a brother people by the Tatra Mountains, but on the threshold of a cavern radiant with the light of a future of salvation, on the threshold of a cavern of mortal tortures, from which this down-trodden people shall come forth into the light as Lazarus of old,