| George Bacovia |
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| Morning |
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| A cup of black coffee ... and an icy rain, While still in the room the spirit is burning Colours - a glanse at a book, at my clothes, And my steps lead me out into morning. |
| 1881-1957 |
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| Dimineata |
| O cafea neagra ... si-o ploaie de gheata, Cand spiritul mai arde culori in odaie - O privire pe-o carte, pe straie, Si pasul ma-ndruma in dimineata. |
| Cand frigul, tremurand ca o veste, Tot plange de-al meu si de-al tau ... Tot mai mult am ramas cu ce este, Si ploua cu parere de rau. |
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| How the cold, shivering like the news, Groans over what's mine and what's yours ... More and more I am left with what is, And it's raining, raining repentance. |
| I forget if I walk ... I am still in love ... I've got there in time, and there's somewhere to sit. But thought presses down with its heavy block ... There's only vision ... I can no longer talk ... |
| Am uitat daca merg ... inca tot mai iubesc ... Am ajuns la timp, ocup si un loc. Dar gandul apasa cu greul sau bloc ... E numai vedere ... nu mai pot sa vorbesc ... |