Catre sipotu da piatra, din padurea deasa, deasa si intunecoasa
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Pleca dimineata, pa roua, pa ceata, pa roua nepascuta,
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Cu roua-n picioare, cu ceata-n spinare.
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Opspe suliti pin-n apus.
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Sus la naltu cerului, la razele soarelui, 'n revarsatu zorilor
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La greu coboris, verde alunis, galban paltinis.
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Foaie da mugur da stinjen eu is baci aci la munte.
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Cind rasare mindru soare ias cu turma pe razoare,
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Cind rasare mindra luna zic, codrului noapte buna,
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Si ma leagana frunza, si m-adoarme lin doina,
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Si ma leagana gindu, si m-adoarme fluieru.
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Mindra matraguna, iarb-a padurii, floarea padurii, lasa-ma sa te culeg,
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Sub claru lunii, 'n mijlocu padurii, din gradina Dinsalor.
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La mijloc da noapte deasa, luna singura dascoasa, vraja sigura sa iasa.
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Stapinele ale vintului, Dusmanele ale pamintului
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Stati in urma-mi, calea da mi-i da, vraja da la sine sa facea.
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Pe nalt virf da magura, ceata si negura
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Da jos, jos din vale, pina hat… in zare…
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Si din munte-n munte, si din plai in plai, pina-n piatra-n piatra,
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(Muntii cu risii, codrii cu ursii, magurile cu fiarele, bitcele cu ciutele
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Stincile cu vulpile, dumbravi cu izvoarele, tati adinc priveau… si sa minunau.
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In vinturi si-n volburi, din vinturi aruncat, si trimes, in putu cu jgheab
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Sa masoare pamintu, pamintu cu umbletu, si ceru cu cugetu.
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Si pre calea ratacitilor, inspre Ursu Mare… 'n Tara da Sus.
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Ceru megies, sfatosenia graieste.
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(Codru sa cutremura, ulmi si brazi sa clatina, fagi si paltini sa pleca,
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Fruntea da i-o racorea, mina da i-o saruta si cu freamat da-l plingea.)
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Sa masoare pamintu, pamintu cu umbletu, si ceru cu fulgeru.
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In cringu cerului, din sorbu pamintului.
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Zau!
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P-un drum in dasis, la vechi alunis
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La picior da munte, pe dealuri marunte,
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Prin plaiuri tacute, da vinturi batute,
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Noaptea-n codrii ma apuca, codrilor le sunt naluca
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Naluca purtata, din vechi vremi uitata.
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Verde mugur brad da munte, pe dealuri marunte,
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Cu plaiuri tacute, da vinturi suflate si da ploi udate,
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Nedei si sintilii, iata, intre munti si deal, glas navalnic greu rasuna,
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din vazduh.
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Pretutindeni 'ncet s-aduna, la foc; |
da sub clar da luna!
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Hora apriga sa-ncinge, muntilor ii tie chinge,
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Sa unesc, si-n tara asta, cea da dincolo o trec,
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Tirg da dat. |
Da dind dai, muntelui pe loc te tai. |
Ii-esti!
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Towards the rocky spring, in the thick forest, thick and dark
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He left at dawn… dew and fog… not grazed yet,
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Dew on the feet, fog on the meat.
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Eighteen hours till sunset.
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Up in the sky, beams of the sun, daybreak
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A steep descent… the hazel wood’s green, the sycamore grove’s yellow.
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Green is the iris’s bud… shepherd am I, here, in the mountains.
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When the sun rises I take my flock on the balks
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When the moon rises I tell the woods good night
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And the leaf is swinging me, and the doina’s soothing me,
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And the thought is swinging me, and the pipe is soothing me.
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Fairy Belladonna, grass of the woods, flower of the woods, let me pick you up
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In moonlight, in the middle of the forest, in Their garden
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In the depth of a thick night, the lonely moon unstitches to let the spell take
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place.
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Masters of the Wind, Earth’s Enemies
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Stay behind me, show me my way; |
make the spell take shape, all by itself.
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On the high top hill, fog and darkness (negura)
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From deep down the valley, till far in the distance.
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From mountain to mountain, from realm to realm, from stone to stone
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(Mountains' lynx, forests' bears, beasts of the hills
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Foxes of the rocks, springs of the groves, all of them were gazing and
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wondering.)
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From within winds and whirlwinds thrown away towards the stars
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To measure the earth with his steps and the sky with his thought.
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On a path of the lost, towards Ursu Mare… up the Upper World.
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The near sky speaks the secret wisdom.
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(Woods were quaking, firs and elms were shaking, beeches and sycamores were
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bending,
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Cooling his forehead, kissing his hand, weeping upon him with their sigh.)
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His steps measure the earth, his lightning the sky.
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In the skies' grove… heart of the earth.
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Indeed!
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On a path through the thicket… at the old hazel wood
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At the foot of a mountain, on the lowest hills,
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Through silent fields blown by winds,
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Caught by night in the woods — I am their long-forgotten apparition.
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Green fir’s bud up in the mountains, on the lowest hills,
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On silent fields blown by winds, and by rains,
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Behold, between the mountains and the hills, a mighty voice is echoing from
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above.
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From everywhere they gather round the fire, in moonlight!
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Round dance begins, it holds the mountains,
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They become one, and bring the other land into this one,
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A trade! |
By giving thou give, you’re mountain’s own… you’re being it! |