With pretty face and eyes meek and profound,
She patiently spreads honey words around,
Heals all the broken hearts, bestows delight,
And turns the pitch-black darkness into light.
Smiles every day and gaily plays her role,
(In this sad world she is a happy soul)
Behaves like a great queen, her mind is free,
And always works with pleasure, like a bee.
She's prudent, knows to give a sweet reply,
With her good deeds makes fortune in the sky,
Her heart is peaceful, void of all deceit,
For faith is her impregnable retreat.
She's loving, loyal, trustworthy and hot,
Her household is a safe and pleasant spot,
Defends the marriage, keeps alive its flame...
I'd like to be the equal of that dame.

Santa Claus, who come anew,
There's a lot I'd say to you...
I'm not asking gifts today,
Now it's time to take away.
With your bag come like a gust
And relieve me of my lust,
Take my dullness nice and slow
With your arm covered with snow,
Take the sadness from my chest,
The disquiet, the unrest,
Take my ****** malignity,
All the spite and vanity,
The unbridled speech I've had,
My behavior rude and bad...
With your reindeers, on your track,
Take some winters off my back,
To extol you night and day
That you came and took away.

On a ridge so nice,
Nest of Paradise,
Here come in the end,
Down the ***** descend
Three white flocks in queue
And three shepherds, too,
From Moldavia land,
Transylvania land,
And from Vrancea land.
And the second one,
With the Vrancea's son,
Well, they schemed a lot
And devised a plot
At the end of day,
Merciless to slay
The Moldavian guy,
Richer – cant' deny –
For has many sheep,
Which are fair and leap,
Horses trained for ride,
And dogs full of pride.
But that ewe, so cool,
With a gray-white wool
Three days in a row
Spoke in a voice low,
And walked to and fro.
– O, gray little ewe
And with white wool, too,
Three days in a row
Spoke in a voice low!                    
Doesn't the grass grow
Or you're feeling blue,
My beloved ewe?
– O, my shepherd dear,
Bring your sheep down here
Near the woods today
Where we have much hay,
In the shade you'll stay.
Master, hear my clue,
Call a dog to you,
Bold and of good breed,
True to you, indeed,
For when night is near,
They will **** you, dear,
The Vrancea's mean son
And the other one!
–  My ewe with meek eyes         
If you are so wise
When you see me dead
On a foxtail bed,
Tell the Vrancea's son
And the other one    
To dig me a tomb
In this pasture's womb,
Near the pen for sheep
To bury me deep;
Or behind the logs
To hear all my dogs.            
Tell them what I say,
Near my head then lay
A pipe made of beech
Its nice song to reach,
A pipe made of bone,
With a doleful tone;
A pipe thin and real,
Which plays with much zeal!
Wind will sweep the grass
And through them will pass
All the sheep will flee
Here to cry for me
Shedding tears a sea!                
If I'm killed, don't run,
But tell everyone
I married one day
A queen far away,
The world's bride, I'd say;                  
At my wedding, tell
That a bright star fell;
That the moon and sun
Held my wreath for fun.            
Firs and oaks with nests
Were my lovely guests,
Priests, the mounts with herds,
Fiddlers, the wild birds,
Birdies stood to watch,
Stars shone like a torch!
And I'm asking thee
If one day you see
Old mom feeling down,
With a belted gown
Crying in despair,
Asking everywhere,
Shouting in the air:            
"People full of joy
Who has seen my boy
Shepherd proud and dear,
Slim and without fear?
His face soft as silk
And as white as milk;                  
His moustache so sweet,
Yellow ear of wheat;          
His hair combed with skill
Black like raven's quill;
His eyes deep and droll,
Two pieces of coal?”
You, my dearest sheep,
Pity her and weep
Then tell her somehow
That I'm married now
To a young queen nice,
There, in Paradise,                      
But don't give detail
To that mother frail,
That on wedding night
A star lost its light
Firs and oaks with nests
Were my lovely guests,
Priests, the mounts with herds,
Fiddlers, the wild birds,
Birdies stood to watch,
Stars shone like a torch!

I want, to be able pure poems to write,
To sleep near the sky like star gazers at night,
To dream near the belfries, enchanted and filled
By their solemn anthems diffused by the wind.
With chin cupped in hands from my attic to see
The workshop which chatters and sings and feels free;
The chimneys, the steeples, these masts of the town,
The skies making people in fancy to drown.

How nice is to see through the mists a star bright
And a lamp at the window, burning still in the night,
The rivers of coal rising up in the air,
The moon pouring down its pale charm everywhere.
The summers and autumns will quietly go;
When winter arrives with its white and dull snow
I'll close all the doors and pull down the blind
And build lofty castles at night in my mind.
I'll dream all the time of blue distant horizons,
Alabaster small fountains which weep in the gardens,
And kisses, and birds, chirping loudly and rife,
The pure love affairs we cherish in life.
The bustle, enticing, at the window will drum,
With my head on the desk, I shall sit still and numb,
For I'll dive in the sea of exquisite delight
Of evoking the spring with my will and my might,
Of bringing the sun near my heart and create
Of my fiery dreams an abode warm and great.

Why did you leave so quickly, my dear mom,
You should have waited for your son to come;
An hour more, to hold your hand and try
To make you smile and then to say good bye.
And yet, an hour could have been too long
When the desire of your soul was strong
To rise up in the air like a balloon,
And I was sad you had to go so soon.

I long for you, a year has passed since then,
I thought one day you would be back again,
But it's in vain, we'll never get in touch,
Nevertheless, I love you very much,
And of your face, so beautiful and dear,
I've made a holy icon to revere.

Love is a wondrous feeling,
A swan in rapid flight
Across the vault of heaven
When it's serene and bright.

You feel the life is peaceful,
Unending like a stream,
A secret thrilling story,
An everlasting dream.

The happiness surrounds you,
The rainbow shows its face,
The whole world is a splendor,
God pours on you His grace.  

But the disgusting shotgun
Is aiming without fail
And the enchanting white swan
Drops dead on the wide trail.

You hug it in an instant,
Your fear you can't withhold,
Try to revive its passion,
But it is stiff and cold.

In vain you weep disheartened
And ****** it a lot,
Of its amazing gliding
Remains only a thought.

'Twould be best if we could perish
While in us there is some light,
Not to live devoid of vigor
Till the soul, detached, takes flight.

'Twould be best if we could perish
While we speak with our eyes,
Not to have a frozen vision
And a chilly heart that sighs.

'Twould be best if we could perish
While we're human, because thus,
We won't see our weary children
Crying when attending us.

'Twould be best if we could alter
The grim future from the sky
And to chose with our thinking
When it's good for us to die.