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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=589890" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Memory [Amintire]</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=589890" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">It's evening, cold of autumn... O, fancy of the brain,<br>Why do you keep on coming, although I don't desire?<br>Within my soul you trouble a wound which gives me pain<br>And all alone and daunted I watch how burns the fire...<br>But when that savage maiden abruptly came my way,<br>She was so sad, so lovely, so dutiful and pleasant<br>That almost without knowing I felt the need to pray<br>With passion and devotion as if a saint was present.<br>And that my love was tender my witness is the sky,<br>Year after year I wanted to utter my confession,<br>But all the time I faltered, because I was too shy,<br>And thus she was unable to guess my ardent passion. <br>When to outlandish regions I left, she bowed her head,<br>Held out her hand in silence in a naive submission;<br>In her black eyes enchanting all people could have read<br>The sorrowful vainglory of love without fruition...<br>But I was not attentive, I couldn't read her mind,<br>Luck smiled to me, however I still was in the mire,<br>It gave me a good instant, but I was surely blind,<br>That's why today I'm lonely and watch how burns the fire...</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=%C5%9Etefan+Octavian+Iosif">Ştefan Octavian Iosif</a></strong>, translated by Octavian Cocoş</div>

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