| George Bacovia |
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| Autumn |
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| A gunshot's powerful report Cracks from the fringes of the town; The metal sound of trumpeters Down at the barracks ... it is autumn. |
| 1881-1957 |
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| Toamna |
| Rasuna din margini de targ Un bangat puternic de arma; E toamna ... metalic s-aud Gornistii, in fund, la cazarma. |
| S-aude si-un clopot de scoala, E vant, si-i pustiu, dimineata; Hartii si cu frunze, de-a valma, Fac roata-n varteje, pe-o piata. |
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| A school bell also can be heard, In the morning it's deserted, windy; Papers and leaves wheel round the square In dizzy spins, haphazardly. |
| With a stern, overbearing spire, The cathedral looks to the horizon; The town gardens are in tears And shed their leaves throughout the town. |
| Se uita in zari catedrala, Cu turnu-i sever si trufas; Gradina orasului plange, Si-arunca frunzisu-n oras. |
| Si vine, ca-n vremuri de demult, Din margini, un bucium de-alarma, E toamna ... metalic s-aud Gornistii, in fund, la cazarma. |
| And, as in times of old, a horn Comes from the fringes in alarm, The metal sound of trumpeters Down at the barracks ... it is autumn. |