(4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926 / Prague / Czech Republic)

Before Summer Rain

Suddenly, from all the green around you,
something-you don't know what-has disappeared;
you feel it creeping closer to the window,
in total silence. From the nearby wood

you hear the urgent whistling of a plover,
reminding you of someone's Saint Jerome:
so much solitude and passion come
from that one voice, whose fierce request the downpour

will grant. The walls, with their ancient portraits, glide
away from us, cautiously, as though
they weren't supposed to hear what we are saying.

And reflected on the faded tapestries now;
the chill, uncertain sunlight of those long
childhood hours when you were so afraid.

User Rating: 3,0 / 5 ( 79 votes ) 16

Comments (16)

loving 10+++++++++++++++++++++++
great loving- you hear the urgent whistling of a plover, reminding you of someone's Saint Jerome: so much solitude and passion come from that one voice, whose fierce request the downpour..//
So much solitude and passion come from one voice and uncertain sunlight of long childhood hours.
It’s ok. It could use more excitement
it is really beautiful and detailed. I love the clever way things are being described which makes me think of lovely memories.
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