People draw around, all of them wide-eyed, 
Seeing the wonders of beauty and charm, 
While Cupid, sighing silently aside, 
Tightens his strings, unable to do harm.

Of beautiful figure, quick as a doe,
Her eyes like the dawn, lips of ruby red, 
She is running along the swift wind's flow, 
She captures each heart that passes ahead.

From here her fine legs can barely be spied 
And only at times they're touching the ground, 
All her limbs at play in harmony glide 
And Zephyr frolics with soft robes around.

Zephyr who himself is deserving spite,
For all his desires met with full success,
Can see the places hidden out of sight,
Kissing her lips in a gentle caress.

When during a turn to some small extent 
Her light apron or skirt will get askew, 
The greedy eye will suffer a torment 
In its attempt to spy at least a shoe.

Your glory, Graces, is truly in vain, 
When you amaze Olympus with your dance, 
For our Kossowska can well entertain 
Mortals of this world in their existence.

To paint with skill the picture truly grand
Of beauty and charm of her countenance,
I pass the pen into Krasicki's hand, 
Leave the brush for Smuglewicz's talents.

But in doing so, I feel a great fear; 
Before this work is brought to conclusion, 
I have to give an early warning here: 
Beware the destiny of Pygmalion.

Translated by Michal J. Mikos