Sonnet Written on the Author’s Birthday

ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN HIS MORNING WALK

Sonet napisan na pjesnikov rođendan

PO SLUŠANJU DROZDOVE PJESME PRI JUTARNJOJ ŠETNJI

Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough,

Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain:

See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign,

At thy blythe carol clears his furrowed brow.

So in lone Poverty's dominion drear

Sits meek Content with light, unanxious heart,

Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part,

Nor asks if they bring ought to hope or fear.

I thank thee, Author of this opening day,

Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies!

Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys:

What wealth could never give nor take away!

Yet come, thou child of poverty and care,

The mite high heav'n bestow'd, that mite with thee I'll share.

Pjevaj, drozde mili, nad goletnim lugom,

Pjevaj, ptico mila, osluškujem glas ti:

Vidi Zimi staroj, sred sumorne vlasti,

Radosna gdje pjesma blaži čelo grubo.

Pod samotne Bijede teški jaram pade

Ponizna Dostatnost i spokojna sjedi,

Prolazne trenutke tek pogledom slijedi,

I ne pita što su, strahovi il' nade.            

Hvale tebi, Tvorče dana od spoznaje,

Istočna nebesa čije sunce zlati!            

Ne davši bogatstva ti odabra dati             

Nekupljive blagom vrednote čistije!      

No priđi sad, dijete od bijede i skrbi,

Da dijelimo skupa što Nebo nam smrvi.