Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/60

 

We strive on the shattered bosom of him who is vanquished to kneel,
But we love not, we love not, and e'en when love we are yearning to feel.

"Ye are hard with the hardness of fruit not ripened, and scorched by the blaze
Of a mystical summer, ye ripen, your brothers' embraces to praise."

Joy is the sun in a dream beheld; at awakening quenched,
Grief has a thousand eyes, and ne'er has it utterly blenched.

"With millions are ye by a mystical brotherly bond girt round,
And only in joy of the millions can joy that is yours be found."

On a mighty furrow of fragrance to floating islands we steer,
We float and the islands are flloating, and ne'er to them do we draw near.

"Ye are shrouded around with a veil of deceit by your kingly eyes,
In the lustre that blooms in your souls do the islands before you arise."

 

"The Hands."