(To Mihai Eminescu)
I know: one day, as shadows rise,
Or as the morning wages,
My soul shall fly, whereas my eyes
Shall linger on His pages.
The middle of the book I should
Have reached by then, I reckon.
Yet, do not shut it, as you would
My eyelids in that second.
Do leave it open, for my son
And daughter to continue...
Let them read on, when I am gone,
With all their father's sinew.
And if my children cannot hear
Its wondrous horn of yore,
Its woods dispose below my ear
To sigh forever more.
(1964)
(Translated by Paul Abucean)
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