Mountains Seen From The Kozlov Steppes

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The Pilgrim
Those heights! Did Allah thrust so sheer a sea of ice?
Or throne of frosted mist for angesl cast?
Sprites of a quartered continent make walls
To claim for East the caravan of stars?

What echoes! Is Stamboul on fire? Or, when
Night spread its dark chylat, did Allah,
For worlds that nature's ocean navigate,
Hang central there in sky this great divide

The Mirza
Those Heights? I've been in winter's nest there; seen
The throated streams, beaked torrents, slake their thirst.
I breathed and snow flew from my lips; I moved

Where clouds stopped dead, where eagles lost their way.
I passed by thunder cradled in its shrouds
Till one star lit my turban: Chatyr-dagh!

© Adam Mickiewicz