Boleslaw Lesmian Poems

Often a song sings in my soul, sad and forlorn,
For two people, who so yearned to be lovers sworn.
...

I'd like to have a hut in the wild forest density,
Made of firewood and a forest's scarcity.
Hanged high among old branches pinions,
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The lip is the lip's friend, the hand the hand's
Lying next each other each one understands
To whom he belongs - each one of the buried dead.
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He reached the graveyard, - grass, death, oblivion,-
He who had noticed how the world goes on.
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A nowhere sailing golden boat,
A lilac shore – and my dismay.
Let’s glide in tandem, like two ships,
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Those paths I brushed
With the feet of a child - where have they gone ?
They roll down as tears do, hushed,
Out of the eyes, down, down.
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Were I to meet you again for the first time,
But in a different orchard, in a different wood—
Perhaps for us the trees would sigh differently,
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You would not take my hand. The dawn glow
Made the world alter.
At that moment your brother called to you.
For a second you faltered.
...