I Had A Muse Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

I had a muse. She was beautiful
Like only in a dream, once in one's lifetime
One can see such pure semblance
Dressed only in snowy silver like an elf.
Her shoulders and her neck were wrapped
Around her light golden silky blond hair;
A silver garment pressed by a golden belt,
Tightens her slim waist.

And her figure is like cut in marble.
She shines in her transparent dress.
She has sweet white breasts, like pure snow,
And these grow round like the apples from a heavenly tree.
Her rich coat could hardly fit her.
With a straw girdle that has been tied with skill
And sometimes she finds me watching her.
Clouds rove through a silver shade's blur.

On her hand shines the light's lily.
She has a rosy cute cheek.
Soft rays touch her smiling face, and her features.
It also touches her white neck and her round shoulders.
Her hair shines like gold in the sun's rays.
Her satin sweater hangs down her shoulders.
She has big blue eyes with long golden eyelashes.
Her head is blond and blackened by laurel.

Only once in his lifetime, in a dream,
An eye of a mortal sees such fine features.
I... joyfully like the blond Leda's lover,
While I was madly in love, I've often seen her.
She came slowly into my solitude.
My hand strayed into her blond and thick hair.
Her coat dropped slowly down her shoulders.
I saw her round shoulder down to her underarm.

She looked like she sought to be hugged.
She felt her own heart beating hopefully.
My lips touched her lips.
Her speech quivered rather.
I could see her looking happy and stained by a tear.
I could hear her intense loving voice.
And again, I sang kindly in her ear
The song — which had stirred through my mind —

Oh, just whisper to me sweet meaningless words,
Yet full of meaning,
You blond angel, with your frustrated eyes;
Oh, smile at me with your cute burning mouth.
Because your smile reminds me totally
That you are an angel sent from heaven.
With your sweet virtuous smile,
You cuddle the lush life of my young years.

She came poised in air, near me.
And she held my neck with her hand.
I looked at her glowing face
And I saw her small lips that smiled at me.
The faint hint of love fell from her blue eye, on mine.
I held her in my arms lovingly tight.
Her fine corsage pressed by a girdle, moved up und down.

She died and I buried her on the horizon.
The people mourn her spirit.
I broke my harp. My song became cynical
It grew deeper and turned off. Indeed, do I like the night's hassle?
Do I like to be crushed by pains? Oh, if I could get blind.
If I could soon get dumb…
Because amongst all, I can't spot the trendy guys.

I cannot see the mountains hidden in the clouds —
Mountains on which my thought shall cling like an eagle —
I cannot hear the thousand-fold echo of the sea,
That mixes into my voice.
I can't hear the bellow of oxen in the old forests
— Which border the mountains.
The old days stir in my mind,
And the mill, and the flowing downwards stream.

Why can't I turn into dust?

(1871)

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