Here you will find the Poem Sonnet I of poet Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
Alas, hardpressed the whirling orbs And swift Titan hie fleeting hours, And cleave delights with woe avid Death might - fast on us, she strides! Whilst I, onward, mark more the deep Shadow of my wrongs that prey untold On a heart cowed now by constant woe, And with tears, my youthful faults I rue. Power, delights, wealth, such ado, Tho ne'er for naught, 'tis ill they work, For our desire they turn astray From its rightful bliss (God we name). Brief gains! O blissful a hundredfold Who knows quick these shadows' true shape!