Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/85

 

Nowhere of man or voice a sign—
How the ice and the snow and eternal peace are drawing near,
In which the beating of a heart I hear!

Beauty's wondrous calm I take as mine,
In humbleness as it before the highest rite
Of lofty truth!—The stars of reconciliation in my bosom beat,
And trustfully and solemnly concealed in this grey night,
My soul thy soul doth meet.

 

"When the Hour is Late.

 

Bohdan Kaminský (b. 1859).

 

RITOURNELLES

 

Amid this life, where age by age are pressed
A throng of hapless beings, naught save love
So potent is, that man thereon may rest.

————

When that all hope amid the wastes doth stray,

Ever by love man raises him on high. . . .
Some let, ere this, their heart's blood ebb away

————

From out the soul much meets the poet's eye,

But if he ponders where is joy on earth,
Naught, if the heart is silent, makes reply.

F