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C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.


By Sándor Petőfi (1823–1849)

Translation of Sir John Bowring

THERE on the mountain a rose-blossom blows;

Bend o’er my bosom thy forehead which glows;

Whisper, O whisper sweet words in mine ear,

Say that thou lovest me,—what rapture to hear!

Down on the Danube the evening sun sinks,

Gilding the wavelets that dance on its brinks;

As the sweet river has cradled the sun,

Cradled I rest upon thee, lovely one!

I have been slandered, the slanderers declare;—

Let God forgive them,—I utter no prayer;

Now let them listen, while prayerful I pour

All my heart’s offerings on her I adore.