Wiśnie się kończą, czyli (znowu) W. B. Yeats

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we’ve hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.

     Come away, O human child!
     To the waters and the wild
     With a faery, hand in hand,
     For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.