The lake [Lacul]

Heavy piles of clouds advance,
Following an unseen way,
And because of their slow dance
The lake's face is color gray.

Near the water, full of grief,
The sad poplar, lone and bare,
Wailing for its withered leaf
Bends and trembles in the air.

Waves go by and seem to gloat
Move with low, but constant speeds,
And they rock an empty boat,
Which is lost among the reeds.

How I wish this very year
In a starry night of May
On your waters deep and clear
With my love to float away,

Listening with a gentle bow
The waves' stories and their lore...
But the way you're looking now,
My dear lake, I do like more!

poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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