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S. Čech (1846–1908)
Upon the rolling fields,
Upon the distant fields,
Today, what beauty lies!
The stalks in massed array,
As high as human head,
A spreading forest rise.
They rustle by the paths
As heavy grain weighs down
The shining waves of corn;
Then as they bow in wind
Among the stalks, like stars,
A flash of blue is born.
In glittering brocade
Each shining meadow gleams,
In summer glory dressed;
All smiling in its joy
To feel its loveliness
By sunny lips caressed.
Then like a frightened gasp,
Abruptly through the plain
A rippling shudder ran;
As if the fields grew pale
And turned in sudden fear
The clustering roofs to scan.
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