Jurgis Baltrušaitis Poems

The day's wild ocean sings and thunders,
And beats against the fatal shore,
This breaker with dumb sorrow sunders,
...

Let the headsman's black axe sever
The thread of life the Highest spun;
Immortal thought it will not bring to ruin,
...

Transfiguration's light descends
Upon the fleeting hour and age, –
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The sun's hanging low in the sky,
All the woodland birds quieten now.
They gather in flocks and fly
From the woods, now more spacious, somehow.
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When pain assails your heart to tear it,
Your naked heart, its helpless prey,
Receive the gift of grief and bear it,
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Loudly and sadly, one stroke on another,
Sang the bell to the slumbering world...
Just like the tocsin when fire is approaching,
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Greet the tender grassblades by your path, and listen
While the clay-sprung grass that's fine as hair will whisper,
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A tumbledown old house I know –
Beside its doorstep burdocks grow;
Its narrow windows seem to wince
As if it grieves and weeps long since,
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Camomile, you mite of whiteness,
To refresh the road I've taken,
Rising from the dust, you stand there,
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Little daisy, white as snow,
To delight me as I tread,
From the roadside dust you grow,
Lifting up your pretty head.
...