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Thou art as I, Silesian Forests!
Sorrow clings to thy trunks and crests;
You look depressed and you look severe,
Just as my thoughts and my songs appear.
Spine falls from thee in the night and the mist,
Tears of a race in subjection list.

Fallen art thou by the ax at Vienna's wish,
Slowly you perish, peacefully you perish,
Silently perish, thou pine forest sea,
Endless, Silesian sorrows are ye.