97
Když sem šel skrz dubowy les.
O'erpowered by weariness, I slept[1]
Within the oaken-grove—
And near me grew, as morning woke
A rosemary-tree above.
I gathered many a rosemary-branch,
And twin'd them in a wreath,
And threw it in the flowing stream—
The fresh cool stream beneath.
And said, whoe'er this wreath shall see,
And save it from the tide,
That maiden shall my mistress be,
That maiden be my bride.
And morning came—and many a maid
Her pitcher went to fill,
They watch'd the verdant rosemary-wreath
That floated on the rill.
F
- ↑ dřjmota—slumber—from dremota(Russ).
