Ye are as I, Silesian forests!
Sorrow clings to your trunks and your crests;
Ye look depressed and ye look severe,
Just as my thoughts and my songs appear.
Spines fall from you in the night and the mist,
Tears of a race in subjection list.

Felled by the ax at Vienna's wish,
Slowly ye perish, ye peacefully perish,
Silently perish, O pine forest sea,
Endless, Silesian sorrows are ye.