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      Jan Andrzej MorsztynFickletłum. Jarek Zawadzki

      1

      Sooner will a man the winds ensnare, and sooner still

      With tiny bits of sunny rays his pocket fill;

      Sooner will he, with a threat, the stormy oceans calm,

      Or grasp the world immense and keep it in his palm;

      5

      Sooner will he, hurting not himself, a bonfire slap,

      Or all the clouds upon the sky with a net entrap;.

      Sooner will in bitter tears the Mount of Etna drown,

      And sooner will a deaf-mute sing, a downright clown

      Utter something wise; and sooner will the wayward fate

      10

      Be fixed, and death and laugh be one another's mate;

      Sooner will a dream be true and poets cease to lie;

      Of no avail will sooner be an angel's cry;

      Sooner will the sun at dusk into a cavern sail,

      Or there'll be people in the wild, or peace in jail;

      15

      Sooner will our minds be gone and words will cease to flow

      Than constancy may any woman ever know.

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