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English language
Limba Romana
To not forget our loving, should I a sign implore?
I'd ask for you, but dearest, you are your own no more.
Nor do I beg a flower from in your golden hair;
Forgetfulness, beloved, is but my single prayer.

Oh, what a sad sensation, when joy that soon did wane,
Not swift with it to vanish, but ever here remain!
Down quite a different valley does that same river fret;
The long and silent sameness of immensurable regret
When through this life to wander it has been writ, it seem,
A dream made out of shadow, a shadow made of dream.
From now in my existence what interest can you hold?
Why should one count the ages that o'er the dead are rolled?
No matter whenl I die, this or some later day,
My wish is out o'the mind of all to I pass away,
And you forget the dream that our two hearts endears.
When you look back, beloved, upon the faded years,
Let in the depths of shadow my memory be gone,
As though we midst our loving each other had not known,
As though those hours of wonder in fact we did not live.
That I so deeply love you dear one can you forgive?
My face turned to the desert you left me all alone
And cold beneath my eyelids my eyes have turned to stone
And when at last death's soil my body does reclaim,
Then who on earth will know me or know from whence I came?

A chant of lamentation within cold walls will chime
To beg for me in weeping the peace of endless time
And I would fain that someone quite near to me then came
To whisper to me softly, beloved one, your name
While then... should they my body into the gutter throw,
Still that would be far better than what I suffer now
Afar off in the distance a flock of crows arise
And darken all the heavens before my sightless eyes;
Beyond the earth's steep margin a hurricane does start,
Flinging to the world my dust and to the wind my heart.

Yet as in spring the blossom do you remain the while,
With gentle eyes and humid, and tender childish smile;
So much a child, yet seeming each day to younger grow,
And of my fate know nothing, as I too nothing know.

Translated by

Corneliu M. Popescu
Sa cer un semn, iubito, spre-a nu te mai uita?
Te-as cere doar pe tine, dar nu mai esti a ta;
Nu floarea vestejita din parul tau balai,
Caci singura mea ruga-i uitarii sa ma dai.

La ce simtirea cruda a stinsului noroc
Sa nu se sting-asemeni, ci-n veci sa stea pe loc?
Tot alte unde-i suna aceluiasi parau:
La ce statornicia parerilor de rau,
Cand prin aceasta lume sa trecem ne e scris
Ca visul unei umbre si umbra unui vis?
La ce de-acu nainte tu grija mea s-o porti?
La ce sa masuri anii ce zboara peste morti?
Totuna-i daca astazi sau maine am sa mor,
Cand voi sa-mi piara urma in mintea tuturor,
Cand voi sa uiti norocul visat de amandoi.
Trezindu-te, iubito, cu anii inapoi,
Sa fie neagra umbra in care-oi fi pierit,
Ca si cand niciodata noi nu ne-am fi gasit,
Ca si cand anii mandri de dor ar fi deserti -
Ca te-am iubit atata putea-vei tu sa ierti?
Cu fata spre parete ma lasa prin straini,
Sa-nghete sub pleoape a ochilor lumini,
Si cand se va intoarce pamantul in pamant,
Au cine o sa stie de unde-s, cine sant?

Cantari tanguitoare prin zidurile reci
Cersi-vor pentru mine repaosul de veci;
Ci eu as vrea ca unul, venind de mine-aproape,
Sa-mi spuie al tau nume pe-nchisele-mi pleoape,
Apoi - de vor - m-arunce in margine de drum...
Tot imi va fi mai bine ca-n ceasulde acum.
Din zare departata rasar-un stolde corbi,
Sa-ntunece tot cerul pe ochii mei cei orbi,
Rasar-o vijelie din margini de pamant,
Dand pulberea-mi tatanii si inima-mi la vant.

Ci tu ramai in floare ca luna lui April,
Cu ochii mari si umezi, cu zambet de copil,
Din cat esti de copila sa-ntineresti mereu,
Si nu mai sti de mane, ca nu m-oi sti nici eu.

1879, 1 oct.

Mihail Eminescu
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