The moon steps over tops of trees,
Leaves beat gently against the firs,
And from branches of the alders
A melancholy alphorn grieves.
So far off, so far off,
Very slow and very faint,
It makes my body long for death
Easing my troubled heart.
But now, why are you silent
When my spell-bound heart is torn?
Will you ever play again, sweet horn,
To recapture that moment?
Peste vârfuri
English translation by Brenda Walker
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