By Vojislav Ilić
A lightning-stricken shrub on a grey glade stands
Like a dark, grim giant. A thick grass braid
Twines round his noble form, and by a reckless
Breeze his colourful blossom is sway’d.
Winter has already come and its icy hand
Tore off all the jewels and stripped the hill bare.
Many a winter with a cold wind are yet to come
But he will still be there.
Translation from the Serbian by:
Munjom opaljen grm na surom proplanku stoji,
Kô crn i mračan div. I guste travice splet
Gordi mu uvija stas – i gorski nestašan lahor
Leluja šaren cvet.
I zima dođe već, i svojom studenom rukom
Pokida nakit sav i goru obnaži svu,
Al’ mnoga zima još sa hladnim vetrom će doći,
A on će biti tu.