Old Man Old Man, or Lads-Love, - in the name there's nothing To one that knows not Lads-Love, or Old

Man, The hoar green feathery herb, almost a tree, Growing with rosemary and lavender. Even to one that knows it well, the names Half decorate, half perplex, the thing it is: At least, what that is clings not to the names In spite of time. And yet I like the names. The herb itself I like not, but for certain I love it, as someday the child will love it Who plucks a feather from the door-side bush Whenever she goes in or out of the house. Often she waits there, snipping the tips and shrivelling The shreds at last on to the path, Thinking perhaps of nothing, till she sniffs Her fingers and runs off. The bush is still But half as tall as she, 'though it is as old; So well she clips it. Not a word she says; And I ca only wonder how much hereafter She will remember, with that bitter scent, Of garden rows, and ancient damson trees Topping a hedge, a bent path to a door A low thick bush beside the door, and me Forbidding her to pick. As for myself, Where first I met the bitter scent is lost. I, too, often shrivel the grey shreds, Sniff them and think and sniff again and try Once more to think what it is I am remembering, Always in vain. I cannot like the scent, Yet I would rather give up others more sweet, With no meaning, than this bitter one. I have mislaid the key. I sniff the spray And think of nothing; I see and I hear nothing; Yet seem, too, to be listening, lying in wait For what I should, yet never can, remember; No garden appears, no path, no hoar-green bush Of Lad's-love, or Old Man, no child beside, Neither father nor mother, nor any playmate; Only an avenue, dark, nameless, without end.

Starac Starac, il momaka ljubav, - u imenu nema nieg Za onog tko ne zna momaku ljubav, il starca, Mraznozelena perasta biljka, zamalo stablo, to raste s lavandom i rumarinom. ak i za onog tko dobro je zna, imena Na pol rese, a na pol mute stvar kojom jest: Ako nita, ono to to jest ne dri se imen Vremenu usprkos. A ipak volim imena. Sama mi biljka se ne svia, ali bez sumnje je Volim, kao to de je jednom voljeti dijete Koje upne pero iz grma kraj vrata Kad god ulazi il izlazi iz kude. esto tu eka, lomedi vrke i drobedi Najzad mrvice na stazu, Misledi ni na to, moda, dok ne onjui Prste i otri dalje. Grm je i dalje Tek dopola njene visine, iako jednako star; Toliko ga dobro strie. Ni rijei ne veli; I mogu se samo pitati koliko de odsad Sjetit se modi, uz taj gorki miris, Gredica vrta, i prastarih ljiva Ponad ivice, svijene staze do vrata, Gustog niskog grma kraj vrata, i mene Koji joj branim da trga. to mene se tie, gdje prvi put sretoh taj gorki miris to gubim. I ja, takoer, esto drobim sive mrve, Njuim ih i mislim i opet njuim i kuam Smislit, jo jednom, to je to ega se sjedam, Uvijek uzalud. Ne mogu voljet taj miris, A ipak bih radije dao druge slae, Bez ikakva znaaja, za ovaj gorki. Zametnuo sam klju. Miriem granicu I ne mislim ni na to; ne vidim, ne ujem nita; A ini se, opet, kao da sluam, vrebajudi Ono eg bih se trebao, a nikad se ne mogu, sjetiti; Nikakav vrt se ne javlja, ni staza, ni mraznozelen grm Momake ljubavi, il starca, ni dijete pored, Ni otac ni majka, ni sudrug u igri; Tek drvored, mraan, bezimen, bez kraja.

Tall Nettles Tall nettles cover up, as they have done These many springs, the rusty harrow, the plough Long worn out, and the roller made of stone: Only the elm butt tops the nettles now. This corner of the farmyard I like most: As well as any bloom upon a flower I like the dust on the nettles, never lost Except to prove the sweetness of a shower.

Visoke koprive Visoke koprive skrivaju, kao to ine to Mnoga ved proljeda, hravu drljau, plug, Odavno izlizan, i valjak pravljen od kamena: Od kopriva sada je vii tek brijestov panj. Ovaj kut dvorita najvie ljubim: Ba kao svaki cvat na kakvom cvijetu, Volim prah na koprivama,koji se nikad ne gubi, Osim u dokaz miline kratkoga pljuska.

The Unknown Bird Three lovely notes he whistled, too soft to be heard If others sang; but others never sang In the great beech-wood all that May and June. No one saw him: I alone could hear him Though many listened. Was it but four years Ago? or five? He never came again. Oftenest when I heard him I was alone, Nor could I ever make another hear. La-la-la! he called, seeming far-off As if a cock crowed past the edge of the world, As if the bird or I were in a dream. Yet that he travelled through the trees and sometimes Neared me, was plain, though somehow distant still He sounded. All the proof is I told men What I had heard. I never knew a voice, Man, beast or bird, better than this. I told The naturalists; but neither had they heard Anything like the notes that did so haunt me, I had them clear by heart and have them still. Four years, or five, have made no difference. Then as now that La-la-la! was bodiless sweet: Sad more than joyful it was, if I must say That it was one or other, but if sad 'Twas sad only with joy too, too far off For me to taste it. But I cannot tell If truly never anything but fair The days were when he sang, as now they seem. This surely I know, that I who listened then, Happy sometimes, sometimes suffering A heavy body and a heavy heart, Now straightaway, if I think of it, become Light as that bird wandering beyond my shore.

Neznana ptica Tri ljupke je note fidukala, pretihe za ut Dok pjevahu druge; no druge ne pjevahu nikad U velikoj bukovoj umi tog svibnja i lipnja. Ne vidje ju nitko: ja sam ju jedini uo A mnogi su sluali. Ima li tome tek etiri Ljeta? Il pet? Nikad se vratila nije. Najede, kad sam je uo bio sam sm, A nisam ni mogao navesti druge da uju. La-la-la! je dozivala, ined se dalekom Ko da za rubnikom svijeta kukurie pijevac, Kao da ptica il ja smo bili u snu. Al da je jezdila kronjama i gdjekad se bliila Meni, bje jasno, premda i dalje je daleko Zvuala. itav je dokaz to priah Ljudima to uh. I nisam znao glas, ovjeka, zvijeri il ptice, bolji od tog. Rekoh Prirodnjacima; al nisu uli ni oni Nita ba nalik na note to mene proganjahu, Bistre ih drah u dui i drim ih jo. Godine, etiri il pet, ne utjeu na to. Tad Kao sad taj La-la-la! bestjelesno mio: Tuan vie no radostan bje, moram li red Da bio je jedno il drugo, al tuan li, Tad tuan tek od radosti isto, predaleke Da ja je kuam. Al ne mogu red Jel' doista nikad nita do krasni Bili su dani kada je pjevala, ko sad to se ine. No sigurno znam da ja, to sluah je tad, Veseo ponekad, ponekad patedi Od tekoga tijela i tekoga srca, Sad uas, ako se prisjetim toga, bivam Lak ko ta ptica to luta mi obzorjem svijeta.