Frozen to precious stones we had
A few statues against azure skies,
Or a columned peristyle for reveries…
If only Sorrento sunlight
Would slither through laurel leaves…
Ah well! ... here all is veiled in mists...
If only instead of this lovely cypress
And this glare that hurts the eyes
And the Colosseum (red foxes' lair!)
One could espy the plaits of a weeping willow,
And instead of a land of rubble and ashes
And shattered Etruscan pots, see irrigated
Fields of water-melon
And just touch a little Polish soil…
Ah well! ...
Oh imagination! ... Lady Penelope,
I know you as when your nimble foot
Skips o'er your suitors' ashen hearts…
I know you and your mottled fan,
Your gestures - the chanting of sweet descants,
Your power and truth - and I rest content.
Cyprian Kamil Norwid (1821 - 1883) Poland
Translator not stated
Source: Poemist
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