The sadness of the leaving trainIs something we have never felt,Although we often travel, For when we leave a station,We really stay –The train alone is leaving! The train alone is leaving,The train aloneIs carrying our silent restlessness,Our luggage-dreams,And thirst for new sensationsOn endless parallels,Along the green plantationsOf belladonna and poison hemlock.
by Ion Minulescu (1881-1944)
