Adam MickiewiczUncertaintytłum. Jarek Zawadzki

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    Away from thee I never weep nor sigh,
    And lose I not my mind when thou art nigh.
    But if for a while I have no word with thee,
    There's something missing, someone I must see.
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    I wonder, yearning thus for days on end:
    Art thou my love or maybe just a friend?
    When thou hast gone, I cannot in my mind
    Recall thy face though gentle so and kind.
    However, oft I feel, yet wish it not,
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    That it is somewhere really near my thought.
    And all these doubts of mine may never end:
    Art thou my love or maybe just a friend?
    I suffered much, but reckoned not, as yet,
    To go and let thee know my sad regret.
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    With no idea where my feet should go,
    How come I find thy house I do not know;
    And neither at thy door my doubts may end:
    Art thou my love or maybe just a friend?
    To save thy health, my life I would expend;
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    To grant thee peace, to Hell I would descend.
    Though in my heart no bold desires I nest,
    Do know that I would be thy health and rest.
    But still these doubts of mine may never end:
    Art thou my love or maybe just a friend?
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    And when thy hand lies gently in my palm,
    My mind grows quiet, and my soul is calm;
    Meseems my life may in this sleep depart,
    But wakes me up the beating of thy heart,
    And thus return my doubts that know no end:
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    Art thou my love or maybe just a friend?
    Composing this my song for thee, my mind
    Was not to any bardic mood inclined;
    I am amazed myself, it baffles me
    How I have found the thoughts and rhymes for thee,
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    To finally write these doubts that may not end:
    Art thou my love or maybe just a friend?