|
Perhaps the wind itself from old myth sweped the dust away, |
|
In a sleep of a beauty frigg caused the fear. |
|
Ah worried, worried is |
|
Balde's mother, |
|
So worried, that even the death takes a pity on him. |
|
I saw the meadow full of faces, |
|
Faces full of child's smile. |
|
Their eyes lived for the joy |
|
And the death was only dream. |
|
But the grief dimmed my eyes by blood |
|
And the time blew the horrifying day. |
|
And I for this beauty, |
|
Now in recollections mourn only. |
|
Bitter thorn is the joy of other. |
|
Innocence of blind eyes of brother |
|
Starkles in cruel trap of envy, |
|
Which like treacherous rose |
|
Lacerates the white palm, |
|
So as under the veil of sweet smell |
|
Sees the fright of pain |
|
In his eyes. |
|
And the death like swan's neck |
|
Flew toward the end of his life. |
|
Vindictive, but full of tears |
|
Is malice of mother, |
|
Which by death of dearest |
|
Is drowning in agony of grief. |
|
Crowning by bottomless nostalgia, |
|
Helplessly seeks in the eyes of death |
|
The forgiveness, but it was fated her |
|
To be destitute further. |
|
When the envy wakes up the pain |
|
And the innocence is betrothed with baseness, |
|
Then by sorrow mourns even the death |
|
And the life parts with the joy. |
|
I saw the meadow full of faces, |
|
Faces full of child's smile. |
|
Their eyes lived for the joy |
|
And the death was only dream. |
|
But the grief dimmed my eyes by blood |
|
And the time blew the horrifying day. |
|
And I for this beauty, |
|
Now in recollections mourn only. |