Lyric song [Romanţă]

On his crutch leaning walked alone
Along the empty road
And gently, weary to the bone,
At barrel organ played a known
And mellow tune of old.

I knew I heard it at my place
One evening, long before...
And on the pane I stuck my face
Feeling an urge to start to race
To be at home once more...

So many things crossed through my mind
While it caressed my ears!
But when the old man's head inclined
The song was over and I sighed
And burst into sad tears...

poem by Ştefan Octavian Iosif, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Meeting again [Revedere]

Through the small window of the carriage
The village glimmers far away,
The engine whistles and I startle...
My heart beats faster and I sway.

I see the gate and the old tower...
A house... another... topped by snow!
The station...people... my whole household
Waiting for me to say hello...

It's been a long time since we parted,
We have much fun and laugh a lot!
Only my bashful youngest brother
Is puzzled for he knows me not...

And in his eyes so big and charming
I see a thought is passing by...
As if he wants to ask in private:
“Hey, mom, who is this ugly guy?...”

poem by Ştefan Octavian Iosif, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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The park of death [Grădina morţii]

The park of death; remember? It was late
The daylight faded, evening did expand,
And we were walking slowly, hand in hand,
Leaving our steps be piloted by fate.

In a low voice we spoke and slowly crept
Until we reached the gate and went ahead
Into the sanctuary where the dead,
By the grim mistress gathered, soundly slept.

In the cool air was spreading all around
The fragrance of those flowers big and small,
Which filled our lungs as soon as we drew near.

Thrilled by the silence charming and profound
We also stood in silence... You recall
That our first kiss occurred right there, my dear?

poem by Ştefan Octavian Iosif, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Memory [Amintire]

It's evening, cold of autumn... O, fancy of the brain,
Why do you keep on coming, although I don't desire?
Within my soul you trouble a wound which gives me pain
And all alone and daunted I watch how burns the fire...
But when that savage maiden abruptly came my way,
She was so sad, so lovely, so dutiful and pleasant
That almost without knowing I felt the need to pray
With passion and devotion as if a saint was present.
And that my love was tender my witness is the sky,
Year after year I wanted to utter my confession,
But all the time I faltered, because I was too shy,
And thus she was unable to guess my ardent passion.
When to outlandish regions I left, she bowed her head,
Held out her hand in silence in a naive submission;
In her black eyes enchanting all people could have read
The sorrowful vainglory of love without fruition...
But I was not attentive, I couldn't read her mind,
Luck smiled to me, however I still was in the mire,
It gave me a good instant, but I was surely blind,
That's why today I'm lonely and watch how burns the fire...

poem by Ştefan Octavian Iosif, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Added by anonym
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