Kazimierz Brodziński - Do Zosi.docx

                                                                                                                                                                                                   Str.13                                                                                            Do Zozi                                                                                                                                                          Z wiosną się ziemia uśmiecha,                                                                                                                              Młodym rozkwita uciecha;                                                                                                                      Zdradne dziecię na twym łonie                                                                                                                 Już się swawolnie kołysze                                                                                                                                         I na licu, które płonie,                                                                                                Przyszłe zwycięstwa już pisze.                                                                                                                                                                Czas dobiega                                                                                                                                I ostrzega,                                                                                                                                                                          Że gdy sprzyja,                                                                                                                                                                                                      Prędko mija.                                                                                                                                Słońce promieńmi złotemi                                                                                                                                          Wonnej uśmiecha się ziemi,                                                                                                     Zefir młode kwiatki pieści,                                                                                                                  Wabi się ptactwo po lesie,                                                                                         Po topoli liść szeleści,,                                                                                                       Piórka gołąbek już niesie;                                                                                                                                                                        Czas dobiega                                                                                                                                                                                                            I ostrzega,                                                                                                                                                                         Że gdy sprzyja,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           Prędko mija.                                                                                                                               Zefir omdleje w dolinie,                                                                                                                  Róża kwitnąca zaginie,                                                                                                                 Przyjdą na nas smutne lata,                                                                                                                                 Kiedy zmorzona upały                                                                                                                                                               Płocha dziecina skrzydlata                                                                                                   W cieniu porzuci swe strzały.                                                                                                                                          Czas dobiega                                                                                                                                        I ostrzega,                                                                                                                                                                         Że gdy sprzyja,                                                                                                                                           Prędko mija.