Adam MickiewiczUncertaintytłum. Jarek Zawadzki

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.

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,

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.

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;

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?

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:

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,

To finally write these doubts that may not end:

Art thou my love or maybe just a friend?