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V. Hálek (1835–1874)

V. HÁLEK
(1835–1874)

 

THE RUSTLE OF THE TREES IS HUSHED

The rustle of the trees is hushed,
The leaves hang breathlessly,
A bird dreams on in tranquil sleep,
So still, so noiselessly.

Many stars have climbed the sky,
Around them emptiness.
A desolation in the breast,
At heart a loneliness.

Within the chalice of the flowers
The dewy crystals rise.
O God, I feel the drops of dew
Come stealing to my eyes.

 

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