Under the starry autumn skies
I lie, my wounded breast afire.
The vision of my love’s eyes
Grows fainter – and will soon expire.
If you are musing at this hour
In our old home by open window,
You, too, search out our lucky star
That in my dimming eyes keeps dwindling.
Our eyes would thus a last tryst keep,
As stars burn brighter before dawn.
Be brave, beloved, do not weep,
But think of me as fighting on.
The fascists run, and endless rows
Of crosses by the roads they leave,
And in the future times no foes
Will ever venture past my grave.
The wind sings low, the shrapnel hacks
The icy trenches, bullet-ridden.
My comrades rise soon to attack.
Oh how I wish I could be with them!
The battle sounds come from afar.
Good hunting, brothers, and – goodbye!
My love, search out our lucky star
Before it pales. Before I die.
(Paulius Sirvys)
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