That Mighty Valley
Translated by C. H. Andrusyshen and Watson Kirkconnell
That mighty valley I shall not forget,
That evening hour, the high mound where we met,
And what was dreamed and spoken by us twain.
What does it matter? For we left again,
Parted like strangers, in two different spheres.
And in the meantime all the precious years
When we were young have vainly passed us by.
Thus both of us, as sorrows multiply,
Have wasted into nothing, bad or good:
I—in my exile, you—in widowhood;
We do not live, but wander at a distance,
Remembering those years of true existence.