Page:Three stories by Vítězslav Hálek (1886).pdf/392



N the cemetery at Bartos’ house, consequently with Staza and the gravedigger, were Frank and old Loyka. They conducted together their modest household, Frank busying himself about the management of all outside the house, and Staza devoting herself to domestic duties.

Frank and Staza had reached an age, when life wishes to burst forth in the song of the skylark. Where such an eye directs its gaze, the bud unfolds, the rose blossoms. The sky is draped in a garment of transparent blue, every star hath its own language, every ray of moonlight brings a message down to earth. The earth is draped in a garment of green, and this green is full of hope, the birds sing songs about it, the leaves of the wood murmur about it. The garish light of day trenches far upon the depths of night, and night with its own golden speech of dawn trenches far upon the day itself. The young heart reels between waking and dreaming; presentiment and uncertainty contend about it, the presentiment of joy above which there is none; uncertainty which is half a certainty because the world is so fair.