M. Eminescu - Poesii / Poems - FAIR LOVE, OUR MUTUAL FRIEND

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FAIR LOVE, OUR MUTUAL FRIEND		S-A DUS AMORUL
Fair love, our mutual friend, took wing, That is the reason why My melancholy song must sing To all the world goodbye. Frail memory's cold finger tip Will shut the past away, That it no more shall cross my lips, Nor through my spirit stray. How many a murmuring of streams, How many starlit flowers, How many, many lover's dreams I've buried with the hours. To what unfathomed depth unknown Had they their roots in me; And, wetted by my tears, have grown, Beloved one, for thee. Through what sad torment did they rear, Their blossoms to fulfil; And, oh, how sorry am I, dear, That I don't suffer still. But you are now for ever gone, Death called you very far; And those gay eyes that glory shone Now full of darkness are. Your wistfully enchanted smile Did somehow know, it seem, To make of dream real life a while, And out of life a dream. And now I feel that you must dwell Where the moon brightly lights That country which the legends tell Of thousand and one nights. Love's mystery was too complete, Too gentle and too strong; A dream too wonderfully sweet That it could last for long. Maybe too much an angel you, Too little just a girl, That this strange ecstasy we knew Its wings so soon should furl. Too much dear one both you and I In love's embrace were blind; Too much forgot the lord on high Too much forgot mankind. Maybe indeed there is no room In a world filled with distress, Midst so much grief, and so much gloom, For so much happiness. Translated by Corneliu M. Popescu		S'a dus amorul, un amic Supus amandurora; Deci canturilor mele zic Adio tuturora. Uitarea le inchide 'n scrin Cu mana ei cea rece, Si nici pe buze nu-mi mai vin Si nici prin gand mi-or trece. Atata mumur de izvor, Atat senin de stele Si un atat de trist amor Am ingropat in ele! Din ce noian indepartat Au rasarit in mine! Cu cate lacrimi le-am udat, Iubito, pentru tine! Cum strabatea atat de greu Din jalea mea adanca! Si cat de mult imi pare rau, Ca nu mai sufar inca, Ca nu mai vrei sa te arati, Lumina de 'ndeparte, Cu ochii tai intunecati, Renascatori din moarte! Si cu acel smerit suris, Cu acea blanda fata, Sa faci din viata mea un vis, Din visul meu o viata! Sa mai sa para cum-ca cresti, De cum rasare luna, In umbra dulcilor povesti Din nopti o mie una! Era un vis misterios Si bland din cale-afara, Si prea era de tot frumos, De-a trebuit sa piara. Prea mult un anger mi-ai parut Si prea putin femee, Ca fericirea ce am avut Sa fi putut sa stee. Prea ne pierduram tu si eu In al ei farmec poate, Prea am uitat pe Dumnezeu, Precum uitaram toate. Si poate ca nici este loc Pe-o lume de mizerii Pentr' un atat de sfant noroc, Strabatator durerii. 1883, 24 apr.- 6 mai Mihail Eminescu
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