STEFAN ZWEIG: AHNUNG

Stefan Zweig
(1881-1942)

Ahnung

Die Sonne endet ihre Reise, –
Wir wandeln unsern Park entlang.
Von ferne summt noch eine Weise …
Wir horchen hin … Und leise, leise
Zieht es uns mit in Wort und Klang,

Als wollte alles sich erfüllen,
Was in uns noch in Blüten steht. –
Wir ahnen den geheimen Willen,
Und unsre Liebe neigt die stillen
Versehnten Augen zum Gebet …

Stefan Zweig poetry
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive Y-Z, Stefan Zweig, Zweig, Stefan

NIKOLA VAPTSAROV: SONG

Nikola Vaptsarov

(1909-1942)

Song

Over Pirin

howling winds

the forests sway.

We were seven

set out to fight

far away;

very soon

we lost sight

of Pirin

and its starry night.

In the bushes

with wild beasts we slept

and across the border

we crept.

On the grass

we seemed to see stains

of our fathers’ blood

washed by the rains.

And we seemed to hear

the green leaves say

where our mothers

in the ground lay.

We knew

when we saw earth cherry-red,

that our first love

lay there dead.

Seven of us

sent away to fight.

Only three of us

came back through the night.

Nikola Vaptsarov poetry

fleursdumal.nl magazine

KATHARINE LEE BATES: BLOOD ROAD

Katharine Lee Bates
(1859 – 1929)

Blood Road

The Old Year groaned as he trudged away,
His guilty shadow black on the snow,
And the heart of the glad New Year turned grey
At the road Time bade him go.

“O Gaffer Time, is it blood-road still?
Is the noontide dark as the stormy morn?
Is man’s will yet as a wild beast’s will?
When shall the Christ be born?”

He laughed as he answered, grim Gaffer Time,
Whose laugh is sadder than all men’s moan.
“That name rides high on our wrath and crime,
For the Light in darkness shone.

“And thou, fair youngling, wilt mend the tale?”
The New Year stared on the misty word,
Where at foot of a cross all lustrous pale
Men raged for their gods of gold.

“Come back, Old Year, with thy burden bent.
Come back and settle thine own dark debt.”
“Nay, let me haste where the years repent,
For I’ve seen what I would forget.”

“And I, the first of a stately train,
The tramp of a century heard behind,
Must I be fouled with thy murder-stain?
Is there no pure path to find?”

The Old Year sneered as he limped away
To the place of his penance dim and far.
The New Year stood in the gates of day,
Crowned with the morning star.

Katharine Lee Bates poetry
fleursdumal.nl magazine