Just as a Slav, lacking anyone to emulate,
Ponders, in vast pastures, and his own self awaits –
While far away, merchants trundle on iron rails,
Telegrams tremble on wires, a balloon in the skies:
Just as a Slav, having tracked all kinds,
Awaits his own self, of himself unaware –
So – sad one’s life can be! . . . bards, friends,
August gentry, Jews, peddlers, and peasants!
So too is a stone, it too juts from a path,
And has served in trenches in various attacks;
Near it a yellow mullein and a rufous field mouse –
The stone juts out, word has it it’s a giant’s bone
(Which you’re free to exchange for a more lucid allegory!) –
Still, one cannot tell, is it bone? Or a stone?