by m. Eminescu (1850-1889)
You ask me for kindness, jokingly.
And you want me
To tell you in French rhyme
— My love for you.
And I am unhappy.
I don't know what to say.
I cannot disguise with a joke
— A secret that I hold back.
You laugh and lean your head on me.
And you search into my eye
— With such poise, sneaky, you.
You see that while I'm in love
I cannot mess about.
Don't you like the fact
That I love you so much?
(1876)
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