Lotos blooms below the barren peak,/Lotosul infloreste sub saracul virf.

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Lotos blows by every winding creek;/Lotosul sulfa la fiecare ondulare de pirau

day the wind breathes low with mellower tone;/Toata ziua vintul rasufla incet cu un
dulce

every hollow cave

and
alley lone/ Prin fiecare pestere
goala siLORD
singuratica
alee
THE
LOTOS-EATERS
ALFRED,
TENNYSON
(18091892)

nd and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown./rotund si rotund,
umatele dealuri,galbenii lotusi ,praful este suflat

have had enough of action, and of motion we,/Suntem satuli de actiune si di emotie

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d to starboard, rolld to larboard, when the surge was seething free,/ Buhneste
pul cind cresterea a fost liber clocotitoare

re the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the sea./Unde monstrul

t=itea spuma fintini in mare

us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind,/Sa ne juram sis a-l pastram cu o
e usoara

e hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined/In gol Lotosul pentru a trai si minti

he hills like Gods together, careless of mankind./Pe dealuri ca niste zei

euna,neglijenti

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hey lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurld/ Cci ei se afl alturi de nectarul

ar uruburile sunt aruncate

below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curld/departe sub ele in vai si
sunt luminosi

nd their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world;/ Rotunde casele lor de aur,

mea ncins strlucitoare;

re they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands,/ Cind ei zmbesc n secret,

du-se peste terenuri degradate,

ht and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands,/ Tciunele i

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metea, ciuma i cutremur, adncuri i mugind de foc nisipuri,

ging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and praying hands./ Zngnitor

e, i flcri de orae, i scufundarea navelor, i rugndu-ne minile.

hey smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song/ Dar ei zmbesc, ei gsesc o

c centrat ntr-un cntec duios

Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong,/

Aburire n sus, o lamentaie i o poveste strveche a greit
a tale of little meaning tho the words are strong;/ Ca o poveste de sens pic ",

ntele sunt puternice;

nted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil,/Scandau dintr-o curs prost

it de oameni care cliveaz solul, /

the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil,

ng yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil;

hey perish and they suffersome, tis whisperddown in hell

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