How many a star burns in the firmament, 
How many a wave the sea before her throws, 
Gleaming and sparkling fair, yet no man knows 
What may their meaning be, or their intent. 

Thus, you may choose the way your footsteps went; 
High or low though be the path you chose, 
The selfsame dust, the selfsame earth will close 
Your heritage in time's oblivion spent. 

I seem to die, and near the shadowed gate, 
With funeral dirge and flickering tapers set, 
The men who are to bear my body wait. 

O, pleasant shade, come near, come nearer yet, 
That I may know thee, lord of death's estate, 
With tall black wings and drooping lashes wet. 

English version by Corneliu M. Popescu

Transcribed by Maria Dumitru
School No. 10, Focsani, Romania
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