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O'ER THE WOODS |
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O'er the woods the moon's afloat,
Leaves move softly in-the breeze,
Midst the branching alder trees
Sounds the horn its plaintive note..
Farther through the forest deep,
Farther yet, and yet more faint,
Blows again its sweet complaint,
Promise of eternal sleep.
While my heart to you is born
Why does fade away your sound?
Will you once for me resound
Melancholy hunter's horn?
Translated by
Corneliu M. Popescu
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PESTE VARFURI |
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Peste virfuri trece luna,
Codru-si bate frunza lin,
Dintre ramuri de arin
Melancolic cornul suna.
Mai departe, mai departe,
Mai īncet, tot mai īncet,
Sufletu-mi nemingiiet
Indulcind cu dor de moarte.
De ce taci, cānd fermecata
Inima-mi spre tine-ntorn ?
Mai suna-vei dulce corn,
Pentru mine vreodata ?
1883, dec.
Mihail Eminescu
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