*tuule makett - Infopoint Estonian Culture

8 1 / Uku Masing
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Once a fairyland butterfly thought it would fly,
it silently spread its fragile bright wings,
then closed them at once, for I did not admire it
nor did I gather up in my hand
the tiny jewels it shed in the wind.
They may be flowing in my veins
through many a crystal clear passage
even tonight.
Still, as long as You breathe, there is beyond Your eyes
the immortalizing fragrance of the Ziusuddu plant
and the gossamer glint of windblown hair.
I know that the Carthusians have carnations
and that hermits keep flowers,
that only a monk can capture on pale paper
the features of a beautiful face.
The eagle cannot rest its head on the clouds
nor can moss grow on the wind.
I know that the path of the footsore
leads through the desert.
I’m just thinking: the wind ran over the water.
I would not say so myself, nor would I wish to believe
that the wind swept away the spider’s web,
for then I should never find it again
though all the fields are fragrant.