Evening Songs (1920)/39

by Vítězslav Hálek

XXXIX

 

It seemed to me—Grief had grown old,
Soon would come its last countin’,
And tears—so many had been shed
That dry must be their fountain.

Then suddenly I thought of Thee,
And soon my whole soul shivered,
And as though I should lose Thee soon
An echo in it quivered.

And mine eyes promptly filled with tears,
My joy to grief is bending,
And I am finding out with pain
That tears shall have no ending.