Peter Mamara

Peter Mamara Poems

1. Colin 9/8/2016
2. The Evening Star 9/8/2016
3. Echo 9/8/2016
4. At The Death Of A German 9/8/2016
5. At The Death Of Prince Stirbei 9/9/2016
6. Good-Looking Lad From Linden Tree 9/9/2016
7. Blue Flower 9/9/2016
8. At The Tomb Of Aron Pumnu 9/9/2016
9. A Harp On A Grave 9/9/2016
10. Whispers The Sound Of The Sea 9/9/2016
11. And If… 9/9/2016
12. Epigrams 9/9/2016
13. The Hermit 9/9/2016
14. Oh, I Count Crying 9/9/2016
15. She Follows Her Way Into The Woods 9/9/2016
16. God And Man 9/9/2016
17. I Had A Muse 9/9/2016
18. If I Had 9/9/2016
19. Egypt 9/9/2016
20. To The Star 9/9/2016
21. Sleepy Little Birds 9/9/2016
22. To My Critics 9/9/2016
23. Angel And Demon 9/9/2016
24. Why In My Heart 9/9/2016
25. Why Do You Move Back And Forth? 9/9/2016
26. Melancholy 9/9/2016
27. The Lake 9/9/2016
28. By The Side Of The Poplars With No Pair 9/9/2016
29. The Fiddler's Song 9/9/2016
30. When The Icy North Wind With The Winter... 9/9/2016
31. We Were Both Children 9/9/2016
32. Demonical 9/9/2016
33. Oh, Clear Up Cold Darkness You 9/9/2016
34. Thinking Of You 9/10/2016
35. The Books 9/10/2016
36. Why Even Now, I Make My Way To… 3/6/2017
37. At Daytime In Thoughts 3/6/2017
38. You Ask For Kindness 3/6/2017
39. Go To Sleep 3/6/2017
40. At The Window Towards The Sea 3/6/2017
Best Poem of Peter Mamara

The Story Of The Wizard, Who Travelled To The Stars

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

A long time ago, when each of the sky's star,
It was a fair young woman with thick blond hair.
And descending from their mysterious deep space on a ray,
They often plunged into the blue sea —
When the beloved fairy-tales were yet based on reality,
And when meditation was sentry against superstition and fantasy,
A glorious empire existed on this planet in those times.
It had countries full of pride, and one thousand fine cities.

A very well known emperor was then in power
—An old man, who had turned ...

Read the full of The Story Of The Wizard, Who Travelled To The Stars

Fabulous Stories

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

Yes. The old cyclone comes out of arched cliffs and fine gates of mountains.
He spurs his horses on broad shoulders of clouds with lightning flashes,
And drives his chart that thunders in its haste.
His beard waves in the wind, like the silvery twilight.
And his pointy crown is seen on his hair
— Crown wrought from flares of red lightning and from a violet-blue star.
There is deep-roar, when the old hurricane catche

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