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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2006-03-14 | [Ce texte devrait être lu en romana] | Inscrit à la bibliotèque par Ionescu Bogdan
When the new season comes
When the cold shall have disappeared, The two of us will go, my lovely, To gather lillies-of the-valley in the woods. Beneath our feet loosening the dewdrops That one sees trembling at morn, We'll go listen to the blackbirds Chatter. Spring has come, my lovely, It's the month of blessed lovers And the bird, preening his wing, Sings his verses from the edge of the nest. O, come then to this mossy bank To talk of our sweet loves, And say to me in that voice so sweet: "Forever!" Far, far, straying from our way, Causing the hidden rabbit to flee, And also the deer at the mirror spring Admiring his great antlers; Then we, altogether happy and content Entwining our fingers like a basket, Will go homeward bringing strawberries --The wild kind.
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