Otokar Březina

“ Time inhaled, a feeble scent, stirred by your music’s might
In grapes of foreign wines it settled beneath your tone’s impact,
While the glory of bygone suns, and the splendor of a starry night
Were mirrored in your rhythm’s pitch black cataract.
Then with your strings’ vibrations you touched the mystic strain
’Til through excessive quivers it flared into a bluish light
Of a flaming haze . . But your music reached in vain
With the Unknown’s voice of might.
My listening mortal ear . . . Where the stillness vaulted and wept
My soul’s soft, deadened sighs, and grief in speechless forms! ”

“ The glare of bygone days, time turned to night so bleak
That it changed the peace of night to a charmless, turpid day.
All this flared in my soul, and the wishes of the dead
Re-echoed within my I, with a mortal sobbing sound.
Over my lifeless youth, I bent my musing head
As one bends over a lover, whom death had found. ”

“ You fogs of smouldering days, who cast sadness over the souls of men!
Glowing, briny fumes of the unknown oceans of forgotten dead
Within whom wither the groves of blossoming moods as when
Corrosive ashes fall upon the billowy scent of crimson red.
Who melted two lights flown together? Who darkened my smile on your cheeks?
Who gave to our voice the strange sound that from our soul escapes? ”