poempoemCreated by GoToSlawek.orgCreated by GoToSlawek.org

Pictures: E.P. and SPictures: E.P. and Sławekławek

Music: Music: DebDebuussyssy

Copyrights GoToSlawek.org 2004Copyrights GoToSlawek.org 2004

Where the vineyards, where the sweet-scented oranges thrive You, my domestic simple from Zakopane pineTaken away from your mother and sisters’ race Stand, an orphan, in the unfamiliar place.

Such a pleasant guest to my eye you appear As we both experience the same decree. I too was taken on the pilgrimage far awayAnd my life’s time is running in the foreign land.

Where the vineyards, where the sweet-scented oranges thrive You, my domestic simple from Zakopane pineTaken away from your mother and sisters’ race Stand, an orphan, in the unfamiliar place.

Such a pleasant guest to my eye you appear As we both experience the same decree. I too was taken on the pilgrimage far awayAnd my life’s time is running in the foreign land.

Why, though attended with much care,You don’t grow taller, you lose your strength?Here you have earlier sun and the spring’s dew tooAnd yet your branches fade and droop.

Why, though attended with much care,You don’t grow taller, you loose your strength?Here you have earlier sun and the spring’s dew tooAnd yet your branches fade and droop.

You wither,Shrivel, saddened amidst flourishing gardensAnd there’s no life for you without your Motherland,My faithful tree!

You wither,You wither,Shrivel, saddened amidst flourishing Shrivel, saddened amidst flourishing gardens gardens And there’s no life for you without your And there’s no life for you without your Motherland,Motherland,My faithful tree!My faithful tree!

Exile, longing you will not endure. Exile, longing you will not endure. After a few more autumn and winter downpoursAfter a few more autumn and winter downpoursLifeless you’ll fall!Lifeless you’ll fall!Buried in the foreign soil.Buried in the foreign soil.My tree,My tree,Will I be luckier than you?Will I be luckier than you?

Where the vineyards, where the sweet-scented oranges thrive You, my domestic simple from Zakopane pineTaken away from your mother and sisters’ race Stand, an orphan, in the unfamiliar place.

Such a pleasant guest to my eye you appear As we both experience the same decree. I too was taken on the pilgrimage far awayAnd my life’s time is running in the foreign land.

Why, though attended with much care,You don’t grow taller, you lose your strength?Here you have earlier sun and the spring’s dew tooAnd yet your branches fade and droop.

You wither,Shrivel, saddened amidst flourishing gardens And there’s no life for you without your Motherland,My faithful tree!

Exile, longing you will not endure. After a few more autumn and winter downpoursLifeless you’ll fall!Buried in the foreign soil.My tree,Will I be luckier than you?poem written by Stefan Witwicki (1801 – 1847) Translated from the Polish by Danuta E. Kosk-Kosicka