Floare albastră [English translation]

"You ride the clouds and range the sky

Your net about the stars cast;

But do remember dear at last

My soul can never soar so high.

You build tall palaces in Spain

Of fancy's fragile masonry,

You search in vain the sullen sea

And roam Assyria's plains in vain.

The pyramids their summits press

Against the clouded heavens high,

Dear heart, it is not wise to fly

Too far a field for happiness !"

        `Twas thus she spoke in whispers low,

        Her hand laid softly on my head,

        But I just laughed and nothing said,

        Yet what she told was truth, I mow.

"Come where cool crystal brooks complain

Their fleeting fate midst forest greens,

And where the hanging cliff out leans

As though to thunder on the plain.

And somewhere, up some little glade,

To gather raspberries we will climb,

Or sit and watch the sky sublime

From neath the rushes' tasselled shade.

While many a story you will tell,

And many a lie you'll whisper too;

But I will read on petals true

You love me not, you love me well.

As rosy as an apple's rind

Will be my cheeks burnt by the sun,

And my long golden hair undone

Around your neck in coils you'll wind.

While if your lips on mine should burn

No one in all the world will know,

My hat is broad... and even so,

`Twere only your and my concern.

And when the moon comes shining through

The gap where tangled branches part,

You'll hold me very close, dear heart,

And I will clasp my arms round you.

And when we walk the twilight gloom

Of forest paths that homeward run,

We'll gather many a kiss, each one

As fragrant as the violets' bloom.

And long amid the starlight glow

We'll stand to talk outside my gate,

For no one comes that way so late,

And who should care I love you so?"

        Another kiss and she was gone;

        Like post I stood in the moon's stream

        O beautiful beyond a dream,

        O small blue flower all my own !

        . . . . . .

        Alas our love that grew so fair

        Has flown and faded from that hour,

        O my blue flower, my blue flower ! . . .

        The world is sorrow everywhere.

• Artist:Mihai Eminescu