Evening Songs (1920)/42

by Vítězslav Hálek

XLII

 

That young little singer there—
Why did she cease her narration?
Her eyes quickly filled with tears
As though grieved in separation.

Some one may think to himself,
God, how can her young soul darken?
Her face young and beautiful,
And her song so sweet to hearken.

Ah, a beautiful young face
May not do in solace bringing;
And though sweet the song may be—
You don't always feel like singing.