O! poetry, when in the world all things elapse and then grow old,
When neither I am any more that boy who had a blameless heart,
When childhood days are like a wreath whose withered flowers fell apart,
You're still in me, deep in a fold,
O! Poetry,
And are the same: with fresh young years crown with much art;
You're still a rover among stars and from up there you slowly start
Among the people to come down to stir again your age of gold,
O! Poetry,
And all can see that only you are never old.
Translator: Octavian Cocoş
see more poems written by: Alexandru Macedonski
