Eliška Krásnohorská (b. 1847).
AND FAR AWAY, THE AZURE PEAKS
This wide domain is like a flower
That budded in the morning light,
And far away, the azure peaks
Above like dewy breath of night.
So beaming are the fields around,
Like a sweet wreath of days of bliss,
And far away, the azure peaks—
A myrtle spray of memories, this.
The ruddy light upon the meads,
Like to a kiss bestowed at meeting,
And far away, the azure peaks,
Like an embrace in farewell greeting.
SONG
O clouds, ye boisterous flock of birds,
Where fly ye at such stormy pace,
That scarce your shadows can be seen,
Clasping the mend in dim embrace?
And that my spirit fathoms not
Wherefore ye to the mountains hie,
Nor what doth speed you in its train
To foreign climes that yonder lie.
