Cyprian Kamil Norwid Poems

Tenderness - is like a cry full of war;
And like the current of whispering springs,
And like a funeral march...
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Today authors are like God :
They breathe and a masterpiece is born,
The heavy plough soars in winged flight,
Toil is mere game!
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Give me a blue ribbon - I will hand it back
Without delay...
Or give me your shadow with your supple neck;
No! not the shadow.
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Those who say my country means
Meadows, flowers and fields of wheat,
Hamlets and trenches, must confess
These are her feet.
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The past , death and pain are not acts of God,
But of law-breaking man,
Who therefore lives in dread
And sensing evil, wants oblivion !
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If instead of windows so amply
Frozen to precious stones we had
A few statues against azure skies,
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Tao much has been written and said both in Poland and abroad regarding the inferiority of women for anyone still to engage with this formal paradox. The philosopher Trentowski raises this assumption to critical respectability when he says that, 'All women sew and cook, yet when we need a well-sewn garment or a good dinner, we choose a tailor or a chef, and not a seamstress or a cook.'
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Tell her - what?... Ah,! win her admiration
With not much to say;
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- Why ride away, Shadow, hands broken on the mail,
Sparks of torches playing around your knees -?
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Narcissus, reflecting a satisfied face,
Cried, 'Let everyone note :
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