" There is so much silence all around
that I think I can hear
moonlight crashing against the
windows.

A foreign voice
awakes inside my breast,
singing a longing which is not my
own.

They say that ancestors, who died
before their time,
with young blood in their veins,
with great passions in their blood,
with living sun in passions,
return,
return to live
inside us
their unspent lives.

There is so much silence all around
that I think I can hear
moonlight crashing against the
windows.

Oh, who knows, my soul -in whose
breast you too will sing, in centur-
ies to come,
on sweet strings of silence
on a harp of darkness,
your smothered longing and your
broken joy of life? Who knows?
Who knows? "

― Lucian Blaga , Poemele luminii