Lament III - Jan Kochanowski

So, thou hast scorned me, my delight and heir;

Thy father's halls, then, were not broad and fair

Enough for thee to dwell here longer, sweet.

True, there was nothing, nothing in them meet

For thy swift-budding reason, that foretold

Virtues the future years would yet unfold.

Thy words, thy archness, every turn and bow -

How sick at heart without them am I now!

Nay, little comfort, never more shall I

Behold thee and thy darling drollery.

What may I do but only follow on

Along the path where earlier thou hast gone.

And at its end do thou, with all thy charms,

Cast round thy father's neck thy tender arms.

---

Jan Kochanowski (1530 - 1584) Poland

Translated by Dorothea Prall

Source: Jan Kochanowski Laments, translated by Dorothea Prall, Fundacగa Modern Poland