France Preseren

3 December 1800 – 8 February 1849 / Vrba

A Wreath Of Sonnets (13/14)

Send but your rays their glory to renew
And let me not look for dawn's light in vain
In your dear face, to hold back night's domain
And calm the wildest storms that ever blew.

Fall with the load of heavy cares I knew,
Their fetters will be loosened, chain by chain,
And all the wounds they caused that still remain
With gentle soothing will be healed by you.

The cloud then from my frowning brow shall clear,
Within me hope will shine and thrive once more,
And from my lips sweet words again shall pour.

My heart no longer shall remain austere,
And from the inspiration in its store
Fresh flowers will spread fragrance far and near.
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