Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/232

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streams have their sources, The oceans have their courses, Where their billows roll. The mountains in heaven lowering Have yet an end to their towering: Fixed is their goal.

But the heart, the heart of mankind, Ne'er an end in its flight can find. Through tears, longing and pain. Weening within its clasp Space and eternity to grasp And heaven to contain. 



Tatra's peaks, on Tatra's peaks, Upon their bluish tips, The wind 'mid mists is king,—he shrieks And murky clouds he whips. 