What was her blondness like? I can't recall,
 But I do know the blondness of the fields,
 When the wheat fields' grain ripen in the Fall,
 And in this blondness her presence I feel.

What were her blue eyes like, I can't recall,
 But I do know the blueness of the sky,
 September morn, or later in the Fall,
 And then again I do feel her nearby.

What was her silky voice like? Can't remember,
 But in springtime, when fields begin to sigh,
 I feel that Anna's voice is calling, tender,
 From a past Spring that's as far as the sky.

Translation by Frank Veszely in: Hungarian Poetry: One Thousand Years. 2023. Manitoba, CA: Friesen Press.