Dry leaf [Foaia veştedă]
Wind has brought me to the window
A dry leaf with its strong breath –
It's a letter without cover
Sent to me by the grim death.
I shall keep it, I shall lay it
Near those sheets upon the stand,
Which I once received with pleasure
From my lover's tender hand.
As the tree forgets its dry leaf
Which on wind floats like a boat,
She may have forgotten all these
Yellow sheets on which she wrote.
And the words of this flirtation,
Which is dead, watch me with strife,
They were proved to be deceptive
I demand to end their life.
Yet, I cannot set on fire
Their vain meaning sweet and wry,
It is tragic and unpleasant
That they cannot quickly die.
I shall keep the grief and sorrow,
And the fortune, and the fun,
When the loss makes me to suffer
To re-read them one by one.
Yet, the gentle news of her death
On the sheets I add obsessed:
Death heals all the wounds and surely
The hot passions come to rest.
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Added by anonym
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