Over The Treetops Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

The moon goes by over the treetops,
The forest slowly rustles its bushes
And from branches of alder trees
The forests sound sadly.
It sweetens further, much further,
My uncomforted heart
With a slower, much slower
— Wish for death.

When I turn my heart towards you
Why do you keep so quiet?
Would you ever play for me
—A sweet horn?

(1883 December)

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