The longing sprouted in my soul,
A flower blue in a bright place,
And one sweet evening, right at dusk
We saw our love was full of grace, –
But you, my darling, you cared more
About the flower, not the vase...
During the silent nights, in secret,
When all the moments slowly roll,
I fed the flower with my weeping,
Which grew and searched for its good goal,
But now, I call divine oblivion
And snatch the flower of my soul.
Translator: Octavian Cocoş
see more poems written by: George Topîrceanu
