Evening Songs (1920)/14

by Vítězslav Hálek

XIV

 

That nightingale has not retired
And she’s with song all ringing;
That song of love, so long, my God,
When will she be done singing?

From one twig to another twig,
From upper to the nether—
And I believe that the same plight
In hearts we bear together.

And turning up her serene eye
She looks in each direction—
And I believe that I could guess
What is her eyes’ attraction.