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Sonnet 10.
Těžko zrjti, wěřjm, když se w krásy.
O what! sublime conceptions fill the soul,
When o'er the dawn-clad Tatra[1] the rapt eye
Wanders;—all thought dissolv'd in sympathy,
And words unutter'd into silence roll!
How the heart heaves when thunder-storms eclipse
The sun, and century-rooted oaks uptear:
When Etna opens wide his fiery lips—
Turns pale the star-hair'd moon and shakes the sphere!
Yet this, and more than this, my soul can bear—
But not thine innocent look,—thy gentle smile—
What magic, might, and majesty, are there:
A trembling agitation shakes me, while
Confus'd amidst thy varied charms I see
The powers of earth and heaven all blent in thee.- ↑ The highest of the Carpathian mountains.
