Tschatir Dagh

(The Pilgrim)

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.