Hope by Emily Brontë

Hope Was but a timid friend; She sat without the grated den, Watching how my fate would tend, Even as selfish-hearted men. She was cruel in her fear; Through the bars one dreary day, I looked out to see her there, And she turned her face away! Like a false guard, false watch keeping, Still, in strife, she whispered peace; She would sing while I was weeping; If I listened, she would cease. False she was, and unrelenting; When my last joys strewed the ground, Even Sorrow saw, repenting, Those sad relics scattered round; Hope, whose whisper would have given Balm to all my frenzied pain, Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, Went, and ne'er returned again!

Tu nu stii, dar copacii toti te cunosc. Nu te judeca.Te observa doar, in tacere. Tu nu stii, dar luna te urmeaza in fiecare noapte. Chemandu-te, uneori, in lumea viselor printre umbre de stele si fire de timp. Tu nu stii, dar pana si soarele, se amuza zarindu-ti chipul mohorat si posac. Iar vatul, scutura cu spaima conturul de lumina asezat pe buzele tale. Lasa-ti pleoapele sa cada si nu intreba de ce. Dormi doar.Si lasa-te purtat de vise. Gandul la tine ma face sa ma simt intotdeauna ca acasa.

The streets are filled with sorrow and people drift away... Remorse, melancholy and superstitions fill one's day. Contagious and corrupted, But then I've never seen A place with no hopes but full of fantasy. I've closed myself away, locked the door too. And if I still don't like it I'll close my window too.