O, it into a cloud, as ye,
Might be transformed my ponderings,
And soar unto the ends of earth
Upon their dusky raven wings!
On Cheskian hills amid their flight,
They would perforce awhile descend,
And with a rainbow-radiant smile
E'en 'mid their tears a greeting send.
František Kvapil (b. 1855).
SPRING SONG
Love 'mid the flowers is softly singing,
And greeting bringing;
Its golden threads the sun doth shake,
Awake, my beauteous child, awake,
To slumber clinging!
The golden bees 'mid clover fly,
Swarming by;
Full of play and mirth to-day,
A wondrous thing, this morn of May
Has risen on high.
And dost thou in this hour of gladness
Gaze with such sadness?
Spring-tide o'er the earth is pouring,
Like to the lark thou shouldst be soaring
In rapturous madness.
