France Preseren

France Preseren

1,000 карма
United Kingdom (Great Britain)

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O happier half of days decreed to me,
My early years, so soon you passed away:
Few were the flowers that blossomed on that tree,
And they, scarce budded, fell into decay
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1 Let my poem, like a shrine, contain - your name;
In my heart shall ever proudly reign - your name;
Let my cuntrymen hear echoes, east and west,
Of the music in that joyous strain - your name;
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(an excerpt from the epic The Baptism at The Savica)The warring clouds have vanished from the skies;
The war of men has ended with the night
The morning sun gilds the tree heads that
Supreme above the Carniola's snowpeaks white
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He who from fate receives but blow on blow,
Who, like myself in her disfavour stands,
Although he had a hundred mighty hands,
Would vainly strive for riches here below
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O,
Vrba, happy village, my old home -My father's cottage stands there to this day
The lure of learning beckoned me away
Its serpent wiles enticing me to roam,
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Mid wastes of Africa a wanderer sped:
He found no pathway; night was now afield
Through clouds no stealthy glimmer was revealed;
Craving the moon, he made the grass his bed
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A Slovene wreath your poet has entwined;
A record of my pain and of your praise,
Since from my heart's deep roots have sprung these lays,
These tear-stained flowers of a poet's mind
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