Iarta-ma…

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Iarta-ma ca m-am aprins
Iarta-mi neputinta
Iarta-ma ca m-a cuprins,
Chinul, suferinta.

Iarta-ma ca te iubesc
Iarta-mi bucuria
Iarta-ma ca indraznesc,
Sa-mi calc mandria.

Iarta-ma ca te-am dorit
Iarta-mi cutezanta
Iarta-ma c-am suferit
Si mi-am pus speranta.

Iarta-ma ca-ti cer iertare
Iarta-mi indecenta
Iarta-ma ca-ti dau crezare,
Iarta-mi inocenta!

4 comments on “Iarta-ma…

  1. Black is the colour of my true love’s hair,
    Her lips are like some roses fair,
    She’s the sweetest smile,
    And the gentlest hands,
    I love the ground, Whereon she stands.
    I love my love and well she knows,
    I love the ground, whereon she goes,
    I wish the day, it soon would come,
    When she & I could be as one.
    Black is the colour of my true love’s hair,
    Her lips are like some roses fair,
    She’s the sweetest smile,
    And the gentlest hands,
    I love the ground, Whereon she stands.
    I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep,
    For satisfied, I ne’er can be,
    I write her a letter, just a few short lines,
    And suffer death, a thousand times.
    Black is the colour of my true love’s hair,
    Her lips are like some roses fair,
    She’s the sweetest smile,
    And the gentlest hands,
    I love the ground, Whereon she stands.

    Traditional ballad (Scotland)

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