On Thin Ice
Spring summons the earth to a wedding
(But who will wed me?).
I hurry, on thin ice treading,
To the ceremony.
She's braiding her hair with violets
Of humble birth.
Will you remain barren much longer now,
I've got to go. My heart's aching
For sunny ground.
So over thin ice I hasten
The way of the drowned.
Don't say, if I die: 'Too rapidly
She used up her strength...'
I ran to catch up with happiness
For the World and myself...
Translated by Peter Tempest
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Comments about this poem (On Thin Ice by Salomeja Neris )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1563 - 1631)
(7 May 1892 – 20 April 1982)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631)
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