(24 December 1798 – 26 November 1855 / Zavosse, Nowogródek)


Urging my horse into the wind, I spare
No spur. Woods, valleys, rocks, in surge rush by
And vanish like a torrent's furious foam;
And by the swirl of images I'm stunned.

But when my charger races out of hand,
And all the world's brave colour's dimmed in dusk,
Then, in my burning eyes, as in grey glass,
The ghosts of forest, valley, rock, flash past.

Now sleeps the earth, but sleep's denied to me.
I plunge into the sea. A black wave swells
To shore, and I surrender, arms and all.

The wave in chaos breaks above my head:
I wait- till all my thoughts be whirled away
And swept into oblivion for a while.

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