Źmitrok Biadula

"On the soul's anvil..."

On the soul's anvil a first verse I forged,

And sorrow served me for a hammer;

That song's midnight cry in my heart deep I lodged,

And the heart told its woe in loud clamour.

 

On the soul's strings a first verse played I loud,

The echoes raced far to the distance;

And with them the ploughman his strip deeply ploughed,

And with teardrops the eyes were all misted.

 

1909

 




Source: Like Water, Like Fire. London, 1971.
Translation: Вера Рыч

Беларуская Палічка: http://knihi.com