Page:Three stories by Vítězslav Hálek (1886).pdf/125

 He never knew love’s holiest flame,

Who dares her sacred shrine defame,

Love learns forgiveness unto men,

And, cursed, curseth not again.

Who cannot sacrifice himself,

Shall ne’er to love’s pure empire rise,

And false the priest who loveth self,

More than the sacrifice.

Ah! sweetheart taught by thee to love,

Earth’s joys I’d give e’en heaven above,

Meek as the lamb submissive dies,

If love demand the sacrifice.

Spring flutters home from far away,

And nature’s children touched with longing,

Woke from their long, long winter’s dream,

To meet the sun are thronging.

The chaffinch flutters from the nest,

Fresh children from their cottage sally,

And varied flowerets on the lees,

Scent all the neighbouring valley.

Bursts forth the leaf upon the bough,

And from the young bird’s throat are ringing,

The first shy notes, and in young hearts,

The germs of love are springing.