Oh, what a great was our fortune,
we were so lucky at the times,
when was a running disk of Chopin,
the only border between us.

First, the she-disk made quiet hisses,
as a grass-snake, caught on a floor,
but the bewitching Chopin's features
became else clearly heard in her.

And, a thin graduate, that's filled in
with water of blue colorant,
a girl-mazurka stood there, real,
nodding with her delightful head.

How was she able with her shoulder
and face as pale as of the Pole,
to understand all pains, I hold in,
and, for her self, receive them all?

She would stretch gently her arms out
to me … and vanish in far land,
leaving all sounds in the round
line, drawn by the needle's end.