Friday, 12 October 2012


 Excerpts from Jaroslav Seifert's "a Wreath of Sonnets"

And were she soaked with blood - no braver -
as when the steel belts crushed the palm
of Old Town Square and brought great harm
to Tyne Church Lanes, thus to enslave her,
And cannon from the Letn√°, roaring,
cut down the branches in their pride;
the ancient tow'r they'd helped to hide,
when May its bloom of smoke was pouring.
She signed her forehead with the mark,
symbol of hope for those still living,
the mark a cross of ash, so dark.
Yet there's the river, lock of hair
around her neck it glistens, fair:
I won't be one of those who're leaving.

If the old owl our Death were calling
and we were looking for the stairs
to church, in darkness, with the flares
of feeble oil lamps, feeling, crawling.
And then, when thus compelled, now humble,
to cry to silent heavens, here
much nearer to cold stone and bier
and His nailed feet, oh how we'd mumble:
may She who smiles on maidens' graces
and shades them with her mighty wing,
when here in May lights up their faces,
persuade the One we irritated.
We'd be like chaff, annihilated,
if God His wrath on us did bring.

It was for you I wished to sing
when in the night the wind was romping,
for the last time and without prompting,
so dark, you couldn't see a thing.
And in her name I do confide,
just like a child for I am human.
I've always loved her like a woman,
and in her gowns I've wished to hide.
That capricious, elsuive bard
playing the lunar lute; and graver
the one who stands there like a guard,
the horologe is in her hand,
Time hurries on and will not stand.
Prague! That's a sip of wine with flavour

Prague ! That's a sip of wine with flavour,
and were she levelled with the ground
and my own home could not be found,
and were she soaked with blood, no braver,
I won't be one of those who're leaving,
I shall be waiting with the dead,
from spring to winter, without dread
till the locked gates at last will swing in.
If the old owl our Death were calling,
if God His wrath on us did bring,
a single tear from Her eye falling
would break the curse above the spires.
Of all my hopes and heart's desires
it was for you I wished to sing

poem inspired me to make weird art

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