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  • Midst the Dense Old Forest Stout

    Midst the dense old forest stout
    All the merry birds fly out,
    Quit the hazel thicket there
    Out into the sunny air,
    Round the pool grown high with sedge
    Fiy about the water’s edge
    Where, by little waves deflected,
    On its shining face reflected,
    Image of the moon is lying,
    And of birds of passage flying,
    And of stars and heavens blue,
    And of swallows not a few,
    And my darling’s image too.

     

    Translated by Corneliu M. Popescu