Page:Poems (Eminescu).pdf/47

 O in my thought with names most shameful Thy conduct I could then reprove, I cursed thee with the wildest hatred, I cursed thee, O it was but love!

Now even this is left no longer And none have I to curse to-day, And as to-day will be to-morrow, So all my years will pass away.

An autumn which doth sadly linger Above a dreary fountain dry, And o’er it withered leaves are falling— They are my dreams that now must die.

And life to me seems but a madness, So spent before e’en it was born, In an eternity of darkness One moment’s bliss and thence forlorn.

O thence for ever from me flying My luck I never, never met, O give me back one moment’s treasure With all its years of deep regret!