You distinguish it on the feast:
She sits thoughtful,
And the eye is in the clear world,
In a distant realm of dreams and sleep.
When the wine is flowing around,
ring glasses, laughter, noise…
What is hidden in her dream,
What is full of unseen doom?..
And if you join in the conversation
And a gentle voice will,
Windy fall silent choirs,
And feast enviously silent…
When the song begins,
Her chant confuses a feast,
And the voice of a sad flies
As far, perfect world.
Mladen Mary - not for the first time
Plague sad heavy yoke…
Throws golden curls,
Gently weeps and sings.
24 July 1899
