Early Spring
Storms were blowing in the night
And the barren treetops were soaking.
My heart woke up early,
shy between fear and hope.
Listen, a well-known chattering sound
Comes through to me, down from the forest.
Are the beloved blackbirds already back to nest in the branches?
There, the white line by the path -
Doubtfully I ask my mind:
Is it a late hoarfrost
Or the first blossoms of the sloe trees?
poem by Paul Heyse
Added by Dan Costinaş
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