J. Hora (1891–1945)
I opened the window to the flowing darkness,
To drenching stars with the nightingale’s song.
Remember the darkness, the nightingale’s song,
That night in the blackness, the thick-flowing dark?
I opened the window to the silvery darkness,
As winding about me the weir’s murmur fell.
Remember the lilac’s heavy smell,
In the yielding depths of that silvery night?
I opened the window to the darkness that echoed
The weir, the nightingale, rings on the moon,
And steps on the road that were fading away.
I opened the window: steps died into silence.
The steps of our sweet, shy, distant sins,
In the flowing darkness, the silvery silence.