A Wreath Of Sonnets (9/14)
They were all fed on many a plaint and tear
The humble blooms on my Parnassus grown;
My tears of love flowed not for you alone,
But also for the land I hold so dear.
My soul was filled with bitterness and fear
At love so scant to a trusting Mother shown;
The thought that no more love from you I've known
Torments and tears me like a wound severe.
All the reward I wished for was that you
With me a poet's timeless fame might share
That native songs our poignant tale might bear;
That all Slovenes should waken and that true
Content and joy might come. Despite my care,
Frail growth these blossoms had, so sad and few.
