Or broke his mirrors, on his shining shield
Flung sand, or spit upon it. Later on,
When grown near manhood, from Klajpedo’s port
I sailed with the old man to view the shores
Of Litwa. There I plucked my country’s flowers;
Their magic fragrance woke within my soul
Some ancient, dark remembrance. With the fragrance
Intoxicated, seemed me that a child
Once more I grew, and in my parents’ garden,
Played with my little brothers. The old man