Oh mother, sweet mother, from the rustling of the lime,
Let me hear you calling through the darkness of time;
From above the black stone of this sacred tomb
Autumn and wind cast willow leaves down,
I hear your voice echoed by the branches' gentle tapping...
Boughs will tap forever, forever you'll be sleeping.
When I am dead, my love, don't sit and cry for me;
But break a bough from the sweet lime tree,
And then above my head bury it with care,
Letting your eyes shed every tear-drop there;
One day upon my grave I'll sense a shadow growing,
That shade will grow forever, forever I'll be sleeping.
And if by chance it happens that both of us should die,
Within the rough stone they mustn't let us lie,
Let them dig our grave upon the bank of a river
And place us in the room of our coffin together;
And then as before, near my heart you'll be nestling...
The water will weep forever, forever we'll be sleeping.
O, mamă
English translation by Brenda Walker
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