They took the green of the pines in their bodies,Their foliage in eyelash and brow,The spring of Kre-Lurë in their soft voices,The blue lakes in their distant eyes.
They went out into the world, just like butterflies,To look upon a foreign garden,Feelings—like needles, weave beautiful dreams,With the scents and colors of your homeland.
Wherever you step, joy bubbles up,You reveal the green, the proud grace,The world stands still, falls silent, struck with wonder,Before the blossoming of Albanian beauty.
They speak in amazement and are left without words,Their lips tremble like the body of a leaf,They slowly open the spring of their thoughts:“A fragile beauty that never fades!”
The maidens of Lurë with their rare blossoming,Laden with longing, laden with sorrow,Their beauty has risen from the lakes,But even when they leave, they take it with them.
