Cyprian Kamil Norwid
My Song II

For the land where even when a bread crumb falls
Hands respectful have it from the dust restored
As gift from Your Halls...
I pine, oh dear Lord...

For the land where never, when a stork makes nest,
Will men pay its service with a violent sword,
Or ever molest...
I pine, oh dear Lord...

For the land where every head in welcome raised
Speaks words immemorial, as Christ once adored,
'May God's name be praised!'
I pine, oh dear Lord...

And I miss another, one I cannot tell,
Whose address memory now will not afford,
Innocent as well...
I pine, oh dear Lord...

For the lack of longing and a thought-free day,
For straightforward answers that strike no false chord,
For no shades of gray...
I pine, oh dear Lord...

And I miss somewhither, where they care for me?
As must be, but never will life move toward
My friendship that be...
I pine, oh dear Lord...

 

(Translated by: Witold Wojtaszko)