A.Asnyk - Poranek w górach.docx

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górach                                                                                                                       Wyzłocone słońcem szczyty                                                                                                                Już różowo w górze płoną                                                                                                                                     I pogodnie lśnią błękity                                                                                                                                        Nad pogiętą skał koroną.                                                                                                                                                                          W dole – lasy skryte w cieniu                                                                                                                                 Toną jeszcze w mgle perłowej,                                                                                                                                                                                                                          Co w porannym oświetleniu                                                                                                                                     Mknie się z wolna przez parowy.                                                                                                                                                      Lecz już wietrzyk mgłę rozpędza,                                                                                               I ta rwie się w chmurek stada…                                                                                                      Jak pajęcza, wiotka przędza,                                                                                                     Na krawędziach skał osiada.                                                                                                               A spod sinej tej zasłony                                                                                                                          Świat przegląda coraz szerzej,                                                                                                               Z  nocnych, cichych snów zbudzony,                                                                                                        Taki jasny ,wonny, świeży.                                                                            Wszystko srebrzy się dokoła,                                                                                                                                Pod perlista, bujną rosą,                                                                                                Świerki, trawy mchy i zioła                                                                                             Balsamiczny zapach niosą.                                                                                                          A blask spływa wciąż gorętszy,                                                                                                                                 Coraz głębiej oko tonie,                                                                                                    Cudowności świat się piętrzy.                                                                                            W wyzłoconej swej koronie.                                                                                                                  Góry wyszły jak z kąpieli                                                                                                      I swym łonem świecą czystym,                                                                                                                                     W granitowej świecą bieli                                                                                                  W tym powietrzu przeźroczystym.                                                                                                 Każdy zakręt, każdy załom ,                                                                                                                                   Wyskakuje żywy ,dumny;                                                                                                               Słońce dało życie skałom,                                                                                                                                    Rzeźbiąc światłem ich kolumny.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Wszystko skrzy się, wszystko mieni,                                                                                                 Wszystko w oczach przeistacza-                                                                                                                                              Gra przelotnych barw i cieni                                                                                                          Coraz szerszy krąg zatacza.                                                        s.339                                                                                                                                Już zdrój srebrną pianą bryzga,                                                                                                                Gdy po ostrych głazach warczy…                                                                                                                         Już się żywszy odblask ślizga                                                                                                                    Po jeziorek sinej tarczy…                                                                                                                                                       Już pokraśniał rąbek lasu…                                                                                                                               Już się wdzięczy i uśmiecha                                                                                           Brzeg doliny – a z szałasu                                                                                                                    Dolatują śpiewne echa…                                                                                                                                               Przez zielone łąk kobierce,                                                                                                                Dzwoniąc, idą paść się trzody…                                                                                                                         Jakaś rokosz spływa w serce,                                                                                                                                                Powiew szczęścia i swobody.                                                                                                                                 Pierś się wznosi, pierś się wzdyma                                                                                                                                                                I powietrze chciwie wdycha -                                                                                                                     Dusza wybiec chce oczyma,                                                                                                                Upojona, a nie syta;                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Niby lecieć chce skrzydlata,                                                                                                                                           Obudzona, jak z zaklęcia…                                                                                                                                 I tę całą piękność świata                                                                                                        Chce uchwycić w swe objęcia.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             s.340                                                                                       

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