Why tonight the poplars rustle that way?
So passionately, so strange? Why they rustle so?
The yellow moon slowly sets behind the hills,
Distant and black, like a foreboding; and dreams
In that dead night fell on the water,
Like a lead calm and gray, in the dark.
The poplar trees only, high in the air
Hum, hum strangely, and tremble in the vault.
Alone, by the muddy water, in night, I stand
Like the latter man. On the ground towards me
My shadow lies. I am afraid of myself tonight,
And I quail, alone, of my outline.
Jovan Dučić (1871 - 1943) Bosnia-Herzegovina
Translated by Gordana Janjušević Leković
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