Poem
by Ion Minulescu (1881-1944)

The sadness of the leaving train

Is something we have never felt,

Although we often travel,

For when we leave a station,

We really stay –

The train alone is leaving! 

The train alone is leaving,

The train alone

Is carrying our silent restlessness,

Our luggage-dreams,

And thirst for new sensations

On endless parallels,

Along the green plantations

Of belladonna and poison hemlock.
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