Vítězslav Hálek
A nation seeks God's punishment
When unrevered its bards it wrongs;
And direst is the curse of God,
Whenever he withdraws his songs.
A poet's heart is truly pure,
And likewise from all wrath apart,
And from his heart whate'er he sings,
That carry thou within thy heart.
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A hundred years passed 'ere I came
Upon the grave that once was mine;
The sexton sang my song and piled
My bones with others in that shrine.
"O sexton, find for me that heart
From which you snatched the song you sing!"
The sexton wondered long and sought,
Save bones he could not find a thing.
Then from his grave he rose and spake:
"That, sir, with us no difference makes,
Ten hearts can'st thou perchance possess,
The grave wastes all of them it takes."
He finished digging, and I sighed:
"O heart of mine, there thou didst end."
The sexton as consoling adds,
"When hearts stop song, so all doth tend."
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