Kobiety (Women)
Excerpt: It is a fine summer afternoon, and sultry. In the pins overhead there is a faint mur mur, continuous, a little sad; the birches, with their slender waving boughs, utter a quiet whisper, but no breeze is to be felt. As I lie here, I presently fall to crooning a sing-song chant - not any known air, but one made up of many tunes, heard long ago, or never heard at all. The words, too, are either remembered, or they spring up as I sing. If the rhyme fails me, I do not break off the tune to find one, but make an assonance do just as well. So I sing of a dream I have dreamt.