Page:Poems (Eminescu).pdf/49

 I forgot, thus happy dreaming, That it is the same, forsooth, If one leans against a shadow Or believes in woman’s truth.

Winds blow in the trembling curtains, As they did in days of yore, Only there behind the windows Thy sweet face appears no more.

Since so long with one another We could neither speak nor meet, O meseems we have forgotten How much we have loved, my sweet.

Now I see thee pale before me, And thy wounded heart I feel, As in former days, O let me At thy feet here humbly kneel.

Let me weep for pity; fondly Let those little hands be kissed; What did you so long, my dearest Hands, which many weeks I missed?