Juhan Liiv

It must be somewhere, the original harmony, somewhere in great nature, hidden. Is it in the furious infinite, in distant stars’ orbits, is it in the sun’s scorn, in a tiny flower, in treegossip, in heartmusic’s mothersong or in tears? It must be somewhere, immortality, somewhere the original harmony must be found: how else could it infuse the human soul, that music?

A gust roused the waves, leaves blew into the water, the waves were ash-gray, the sky tin-gray, ash-gray the autumn. It was good for my heart: there my feelings were ash-gray, the sky tin-gray, ash-gray the autumn. The breath of wind brought cooler air, the waves of mourning brought separation: autumn and autumn befriend each other.