A Cradle Wind
Toward my cradle flew a Tatra wind,
brushed by eagles' wings and mountain pines
which gape from craggs into the abyss --
it blew and roared above my cradle.
Into my heart poured a lasting fit
of longing for eagles' flight and the
pensiveness of pines swaying in the
mountain tops, engulfed in pure quiet.
-translated by Walter Whipple