The whole world is wondering
Could any more room be made
In your stunning garland’s ring
For the tiniest grass blade ?

But I know it could no more.
Art, life’s fairy, would display -
Just as in fairy-tales lore -
Only flowers in your way.

For that reason let me bring
As an offering my rhymes
My song on a mellow string
Much weaker than yours, at times ;

But it will be played out loud
By those souls from near you
Of the fascinated crowd
Who’d have come to hear you !

Bucharest, March 1885