Otokar Březina,
The Soul Of A Century — A memory
(1943)
“ A question long thought dead and speechless, rises in smoke from its decay, Like the sweetness of a thought, that melted too late with life’s destructive gale, Like the burning oil of fully ripened olives . . . Over my dreams’ furrowed way, I sail at night with the song of waves that dash beneath my meter’s oars, I am carried away beneath the celestial map’s outspread, starry wings, And I feel in the winds that blow from desolate island shores, The peace of cypress blossoms, of soft, warm shadows and glowing Springs. ”
