do not repent
of having gathered mud into my soul -
but I do think about you.
With claws of light a morning
will someday murder your endearing dream that wants
my soul to be as purely clean
as daydreamed by your thought,
as fancied by the heart of your sweet loving.
Will you then cry a lot, will you forgive?
Will you then cry a lot or smile
seeing the rays of light that morning when
I'm going to tell you without a shadow of repentance:
"Don't you know that lilies grow only in lakes with muddy bottoms?"
Translator: Vasile Andreica
see more poems written by: Lucian Blaga