Tschatir Dagh (The Pilgrim)

A poem by Adam Bernard Mickiewicz

Below me half a world I see outspread;
Above, blue heaven; around, peaks of snow;
And yet the happy pulse of life is slow,
I dream of distant places, pleasures dead.
The woods of Lithuania I would tread
Where happy-throated birds sing songs I know;
Above the trembling marshland I would go
Where chill-winged curlews dip and call o'er head.

A tragic, lonely terror grips my heart,
A longing for some peaceful, gentle place,
And memories of youthful love I trace.
Unto my childhood home I long to start,
And yet if all the leaves my name could cry
She would not pause nor heed as she passed by.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Tschatir Dagh (The Pilgrim)' by Adam Bernard Mickiewicz

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy