Over the tops the bright moon sails,
The forest rustles its green leaves
And from among the alder trees
The horn resounds as if it wails.
Far, far away and farther still,
Fainter and fainter can be heard
And my pure soul, so sad and stirred
Yearns for the death, for its deep thrill.
Why are you numb and silent when
I turn to you my heart that's torn?
Will you my sweet and distant horn
Resound for me ever again?
Translator: Octavian Cocoş
see more poems written by: Mihai Eminescu
