The mute questions of lips that have ceased asking!
The gaze of the eyes in the ecstasise of death fixed in the distance, athirst!
The opressive silences of the mysterious suggestions of passion, that in pain are ripening for future blossomings,
And leading nations thru the midnight of ages, in the bloody reflexes of northern lights;
The words composed of the vibrations of livid lights, in earthly thoughts that are dying,
And inner voices that in the depths of the spirit, inaudible, are answering
The joy of the souls of all worlds and the smiles of the new May!
The intoxication of all future dreams, that will bloom in the fiery rainbows In the new Suns on the clouds of thy immortal breath!
Eternal whirl of silent lightnings, transmitting the commands of thy holy will
From the mystery of the world hidden to eyes, into the world of the colors that die!
O Eternal! In that moment, when my hands helplessly sank, feeble with love,
My own life I saw, changed by an unknown light;
Pale twinkling of colors, springing from the icy flowers of my windows,
Had melted under thy fiery breath, and in the splendor of thy gardens my gaze went afrenzy.
And still, O my Father! where have I heard the voice of thy silence, that it’s so well known to me?
Where have I seen the beauty of thy gardens, that I recognize the taste of their fragrance?
And the glow of thy gaze, that lulled my soul to this sleep, to wake her into this dreaming?
On my lips there is still burning the sweetness of thy grapes and the kisses of thy brotherly souls.
The festival of thy chimes is falling into my dreams and makes me dream of music,
While the morning sign of thy messenger is reflected into my dreaming as a premonition of death.
Thy sweet remembrance remained in my soul, like the fragrant darkness after a quenched light,
And its warmth is passing thru my blood, as though a hand beloved was holding my hand at night when I slumber,
And by the ardor of a long pressure made me dream of love.
The midnight of thy mystical moon is luring my song, in dreamings to wander in dangers,
And like the stones that are glowig at night, thru the mystery of thy daily lights beauty is breathing to me;
And my soul, speechless with love, is talking its language of old.
The night fell asleep in the ripening fields. Confidingly from on high the stars were shining.
Of dawn the fragrances whispered, its familiar voice assumed the silence,
Of the Sun the apple trees dreamt, of the pure meeting of souls were dreaming the rose-buds,
And my soul, languished and happy, of Home.
NATURE.
Otokar Březina. Translated by Jar. Císař.
Hidden springs were playing music and my day its song thereto was chanting
On the melancholy shores.
The woe of life gone by, whence I had come, was wafted to me from the fragrances,
And from the converse of the trees and from the heavy ringing of insects over the waters;
And whole centuries there lay between my hand, that blossoms plucked, and then,
etween my countenance and the mystical world
That in thousands of questioning glances into my soul so silently gazed.
The clouds have dimmed the setting sun. And of the winds my soul inquired:
Are those approaching or receding clouds?
The winds were hushed, smooth like submissive mirrors the waters became?,
And the stars, like waning fires in the cold waves of gleaming oceans,
Seethed and whispered over me, invisible:
Light dies only at the advent of greater light,
Of a greater, greater light.
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