Oh, come to the wood! The fountain

Bubbles on the pebbles round

And the lowly-bending branches

Hide a plot of terraced ground.

To my open arms you’ll hasten,

On my bosom you’ll alight,

And I’ll lift then from your forehead,

From your face, the veil so white.

On my knees you will be sitting,

All alone we shall be there;

Thrilled with rapture, linden blossoms

Will be falling on your hair.

On my arm you’ll rest your forehead

Girded with your locks of gold,

Your sweet lips you’ll thus surrender

To my own, unduly bold…

Of all dreams we’ll dream the happiest;

Every solitary spring,

Every breath of gentle breezes

Will for us, responsive sing;

Drowsy with the harmony

Of the wood’s thought-laden stave,

Linden blossoms from above us

Will sail down, wave after wave.

1876

English version by Leon LEVIŢCHI