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58
MODERN BOHEMIAN POETRY
Arn. Czech z Czechenherzů (b. 1878).
THE RETURN
When after years in avenues
Of the old home I took my way,
Upon the path, around my feet,
From every tree the blossoms lay.
And every blossom was a hope
That e'en the soul could keep no more,
And every blossom was deceit,
That led me to the world of yore.
When after years in avenues
Of the old home I took my way,
Upon the path around my feet
From every tree the blossoms lay.
Svatopluk Čech (1846—1908).
OUR NATIVE TOUNGUE
Power and fame and wealth—of all these things what doth to us remain?
What with a single shield did guard us in the wearisome campaign?
Our native tongue.
Our native tongue.
