Peter Mamara

Peter Mamara Poems

1. I Had A Muse 9/9/2016
2. If I Had 9/9/2016
3. Egypt 9/9/2016
4. To The Star 9/9/2016
5. Sleepy Little Birds 9/9/2016
6. To My Critics 9/9/2016
7. Angel And Demon 9/9/2016
8. Why In My Heart 9/9/2016
9. Why Do You Move Back And Forth? 9/9/2016
10. Melancholy 9/9/2016
11. The Lake 9/9/2016
12. By The Side Of The Poplars With No Pair 9/9/2016
13. The Fiddler's Song 9/9/2016
14. When The Icy North Wind With The Winter... 9/9/2016
15. We Were Both Children 9/9/2016
16. Demonical 9/9/2016
17. Oh, Clear Up Cold Darkness You 9/9/2016
18. Thinking Of You 9/10/2016
19. The Books 9/10/2016
20. Why Even Now, I Make My Way To… 3/6/2017
21. At Daytime In Thoughts 3/6/2017
22. You Ask For Kindness 3/6/2017
23. Go To Sleep 3/6/2017
24. At The Window Towards The Sea 3/6/2017
25. The Downhill Run Race Of The Waters 3/6/2017
26. Mary Tudor 3/6/2017
27. If You All Talk I Pretend I Can't Hear 3/6/2017
28. The World Is Split 3/6/2017
29. Satirical Sonnet 3/6/2017
30. Our Young Men 3/6/2017
31. A Song Moans And Sighs In My Lyre 3/6/2017
32. Oh, I've Asked From Zodiacal Constellations 3/6/2017
33. Today Is The First Day Of May 3/6/2017
34. Why Do You Whisper So Quietly? 3/6/2017
35. The Woman? Bone Of Contention 3/6/2017
36. When I Saw You, Verena 3/6/2017
37. Lost In The Pain 3/8/2017
38. You Tormented Me So Much, With Words Of Love 3/8/2017
39. For The Preservation Of Hearing 3/8/2017
40. Lost For Me, You Go By Through The World 3/8/2017
Best Poem of Peter Mamara

At The Death Of A German

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

Let the bell cry fast with its copper sound.
Let the tower move its central-part.
Being closer to the stars, it says:
A good and noble soul heads to heaven.

Bell you, repeat the grief, and toll with your cry.
When his soul swiftly rise from star to star.
While we follow with a step slowed by hopelessness,
To bury the pale clay that breathes no more.

His eye? Its sight, how many sweet scenes did it see?
His head? Oh, how many thoughts was it filled with?
His heart? How much feeling has it stirred?
His soul? How ...

Read the full of At The Death Of A German


by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

A crested chicken with snowy plumage
Lives in a secluded coop, like in a cool refuge.
There isn't any cock over the whole yard,
Which could stalk her chaste youth.

How coquettish she is. And how graciously she walks.
And what lovely stars she paints with her claw in the sand.

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