Longing for the south
How can I don the eagle's wings
To fly my beloved home?
On eagle's wings to soar and hover
Over Constantinople and native Kukus,
To see if there, as here, the sun
Must pierce the gloom to warm the peaks.
If I find it there the same as here
if it's faded there as it's pallid here,
I'll pack myself off to distant parts,
To some retreat on the edge of the world
Where every morning the sun shines bright
And the evening sky is fresh with stars.
Here it is dark, our dusk descends
And the gloomy fog has blinded the land
Only the frost, only the snow,
And the shrieking gales and angry winds,
In this spiteful damp and wrathful cold
My chest is ice and every thought is back.
No, no, I can't live here: I'm not
The one to fight these choking fogs.
But give the strength of eagle's wings
With the majesty to make that homeward flight
To Ohrid's lake and Struga's stream.
Where even dawn is warmth to the soul
And the setting sun kindles the peaks.
Beauty itself is native thing:
The crystal lake has a milky cast
Or the wind puts all in an ink-blue shade.
Regard that field and the leafing hill
To see their splendour all aglow.
If my heart could skip to the piper's notes
as the sun goes down-my dying would be easy.
