Page:Bohemian poems, ancient and modern (Lyra czecho-slovanska).djvu/137

Cold sighs the wind, and gloom o’erspreads the sky,
And cold and sad around in heart we mourn,
But, though the snow-clouds gather gloomily,
These promises of Spring are not forlorn:

Nor is our grief forlorn; the sleeping maid,
Though vanquish’d, is assur’d of victory;
Still lives, though all its earthly honours fade,
The precious seed of immortality.

O place the nosegay in her fingers cold,
And o’er the few white flow’rets close them fast!
Yet, ere the winding sheet her form enfold,
O grant another look to be our last!

There lies she like a snow-drop, early ta’en,
And with her must these snow-drops too decay,
But ne’er, like her, will they arise again
Beneath a brighter sun’s enliv’ning ray.

O peaceful slumber! soft and sweet repose!
O heavenly calm upon her features spread!
The living circled live with cares and woes,
But Peace and Silence wait upon the dead.

 

---