Je voudrais des fleurs pour tes mains,
Et pour tes pas
Un peti sentier d’herbe et de sable,
Qui monte un peu et qui descende
Et tourne et semble
S’en aller au fond du silence,
Un tout petit-sentier de sable
Où marqueraient un peu tes pas,
Nos pas
Ensemble
(Henry de Régnier 1864-1936)

anh muô´n thâ.t nhiê`u hoa cho tay em,
cho buo´c chân em anh muô´n
con duo`ng mo`n co? xanh
nguo.n lên, xuôi xuô´ng,
luo.ng quanh,
di dê´n tâ.n cu`ng yên ti`nh,
con duo`ng mo`n ca´t tra´ng
in ma~i không nho`a
dâ´u chân an ho`a.
Ðôi ta.
(Trâ`n Mai Châu di.ch)

ma`u tho`i gian không xanh
ma`u tho`i gian ti´m nga´t
huong tho`i gian không nô`ng
huong tho`i gian thanh thanh
(Ðoa`n Phu´ Tu?)

die farbe der zeit ist nicht blau
die farbe der zeit ist tief lila
der duft der zeit ist nicht leidenschaftlich
der duft der zeit ist sanft
(Ðoa`n Phu´ Tu?)

lá dào roi rác lói thiên thai,
suói tie?n oanh dua luóng nga.m ngùi
nu?a nam tiên ca?nh,
mo.t buóc tràn ai,
uóc cu duyên thùa có thé thôi!
dá mòn, rêu nha.t,
nuóc cha.y, huê trôi,
cái ha.c bay lên vút ta.n tròi!
tròi dát tù dây xa cách mãi.
cu?a do.ng,
dàu non,
duòng lói cu,
ngàn nam tho tha?n bóng trang choi
(Ta?n Ðà)

On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying, and I knew it not. My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.

Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up from my dream and felt a sweet trace of a strange fragrance in the south wind.

That vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing and it seemed to me that is was the eager breath of the summer seeking for its completion.

I knew not then that it was so near, that it was mine, and that this perfect sweetness had blossomed in the depth of my own heart.

(Rabindranath Tagore)