A hawk, in polished circles, sails
Above the drowsy meadow swathes
And gazes on a little hut
Where mother to her son bewails:
“Take bread, my son, come on, suck breast,
“You must obey and carry cross”.
The ages pass, the wars enrage,
The riots, villages are blazed,
While, you, my country, still unchanged,
Your ancient beauty still tear-tinged. -
How long will mother go bewailing ?
How long will hawk go circle-sailing ?
1916
vip/2013
* * *
Коршун