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English language
Limba Romana
Fair love, our mutual friend, took wing,
That is the reason why
My melancholy song must sing
To all the world goodbye.

Frail memory's cold finger tip
Will shut the past away,
That it no more shall cross my lips,
Nor through my spirit stray.

How many a murmuring of streams,
How many starlit flowers,
How many, many lover's dreams
I've buried with the hours.

To what unfathomed depth unknown
Had they their roots in me;
And, wetted by my tears, have grown,
Beloved one, for thee.

Through what sad torment did they rear,
Their blossoms to fulfil;
And, oh, how sorry am I, dear,
That I don't suffer still.

But you are now for ever gone,
Death called you very far;
And those gay eyes that glory shone
Now full of darkness are.

Your wistfully enchanted smile
Did somehow know, it seem,
To make of dream real life a while,
And out of life a dream.

And now I feel that you must dwell
Where the moon brightly lights
That country which the legends tell
Of thousand and one nights.

Love's mystery was too complete,
Too gentle and too strong;
A dream too wonderfully sweet
That it could last for long.

Maybe too much an angel you,
Too little just a girl,
That this strange ecstasy we knew
Its wings so soon should furl.

Too much dear one both you and I
In love's embrace were blind;
Too much forgot the lord on high
Too much forgot mankind.

Maybe indeed there is no room
In a world filled with distress,
Midst so much grief, and so much gloom,
For so much happiness.

Translated by

Corneliu M. Popescu
S'a dus amorul, un amic 
Supus amandurora;
Deci canturilor mele zic
Adio tuturora.

Uitarea le inchide 'n scrin
Cu mana ei cea rece,
Si nici pe buze nu-mi mai vin
Si nici prin gand mi-or trece.

Atata mumur de izvor,
Atat senin de stele
Si un atat de trist amor
Am ingropat in ele!

Din ce noian indepartat
Au rasarit in mine!
Cu cate lacrimi le-am udat,
Iubito, pentru tine!

Cum strabatea atat de greu
Din jalea mea adanca!
Si cat de mult imi pare rau,
Ca nu mai sufar inca,

Ca nu mai vrei sa te arati,
Lumina de 'ndeparte,
Cu ochii tai intunecati,
Renascatori din moarte!

Si cu acel smerit suris,
Cu acea blanda fata,
Sa faci din viata mea un vis,
Din visul meu o viata!

Sa mai sa para cum-ca cresti,
De cum rasare luna,
In umbra dulcilor povesti
Din nopti o mie una!

Era un vis misterios
Si bland din cale-afara,
Si prea era de tot frumos,
De-a trebuit sa piara.

Prea mult un anger mi-ai parut
Si prea putin femee,
Ca fericirea ce am avut
Sa fi putut sa stee.

Prea ne pierduram tu si eu
In al ei farmec poate,
Prea am uitat pe Dumnezeu,
Precum uitaram toate.

Si poate ca nici este loc
Pe-o lume de mizerii
Pentr' un atat de sfant noroc,
Strabatator durerii.

1883, 24 apr.- 6 mai

Mihail Eminescu
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