The trees' reflection in the misty stream
Dies off in livid steam;
Whilst up among the actual boughs, forlorn,
The tender wood-doves mourn.
How wan the face, O traveller, this wan
Gray landscape looked upon;
And how forlornly in the high tree-tops
Lamented thy drowned hopes!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
cautarea indentitatii si confruntarea ei cu ego-ul sau, raportat la starea de fapt a copacului cu care se indentifica pana la o asimilare totala.