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MODERN BOHEMIAN POETRY
67
"In the evening fresh and bright,
Like a corpse she lies at night.
"Naught has sounded, naught has stirred.
Ne'er a trace of breathing heard.
"Filled with coldness is her frame,
E'en as if to dust it came."
"How can she be aught but dead,
Since her life but half is led?
"She dwells by day at home with thee,
At night her soul dwells in a tree.
"Go to the stream beyond the park,
Thou find'st a willow with shining bark.
"A yellow bough the tree doth bear,
The spirit of thy bride is there."
"I have not espoused my bride.
That with a willow she might abide.
"Near to me my bride shall stay,
The willow in the earth decay."
In his arm the axe he held,
From the root the willow felled.
