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fot. A. Bober

Cyprian Kamil Norwid 

Mischance, ferocious, shaggy, fixed its look 
On man, gazed at him, deathly grey, 
And waited for the time it knew he took 
To turn away.

But man, who is an artist measuring 
The angle of his model’s elbow joint, 
Returned that look and made the churlish thing 
Serve his aesthetic point. 
Mischance, the brawny, when the dust had cleared 
Had disappeared.

Translated by Jerzy Peterkiewicz and Burns Singer