Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse/The wind whips…
The wind whips the orphaned pines
And rain at my window beats;
In peaceful mood my soul
To misty pathways fleets.
It flows to the flame-lit crags,
To the chasm-crowning ways,
Where the sight of the secrets of God
Is before us in tumult ablaze.
It speeds to the eddies of light
That coil from the sun's gold beams,
Where by the shoreless spaces
Yearning in solitude dreams.
The wind whips the orphaned pines,
Mists in the rain unroll.
Ho, mountains, enchanted mountains,
The yearning of my soul.