XIV
Josef Štýbr translation
That nightingale has not retired And she’s with song all ringing; That song of love, so long, my God, When will she be done singing? From one twig to another twig, From upper to the nether— And I believe that the same plight In hearts we bear together. And turning up her serene eye She looks in each direction— And I believe that I could guess What is her eyes’ attraction.