The Desire

Oh, come to the wood! The fountainBubbles on the pebbles roundAnd the lowly-bending branchesHide a plot of terraced ground. To my open arms you'll hasten,On my bosom you'll alight,And I'll lift then from your forehead,From your face, the veil so white. On my knees you will be sitting, All alone we shall be there;Thrilled with rapture, linden blossomsWill be falling on your hair. On my arm you'll rest your foreheadGirded with your locks of gold,Your sweet lips you'll thus surrenderTo my own, unduly bold… Of all dreams we'll dream the happiest;Every solitary spring,Every breath of gentle breezesWill for us, responsive sing; Drowsy with the harmonyOf the wood's thought-laden stave, Linden blossoms from above usWill sail down, wave after wave. 1876 English version by Leon LEVIŢCHI

by Mihai Eminescu (1850-1889)