A Street, Which Was Too Narrow Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

It seemed that there was
A street, which was too narrow.
And on both sides
There were long and black houses.

A single lamp doesn't light on the street.
And I go by slowly.
And I whistle
— With sadness in my heart.

Suddenly I'm aware of
A lass's shy noiseless footstep
— Hardly perceptible, like that of a child —
Coming slowly behind me.

And I feel that a light hand.
Gets hold of my hand, gently.
And that pleasant fine hand
Squeezes my hand.

It tolls the midnight hour
— Inside the black old tower.
We are so lonely
— The two of us.

Since you are the one, my sweetheart.
Oh, and I have wanted a lot
—To be just us two, at least once.
And finally, look at us.

You don't even know, sweet babe.
How much, there is on my mind.
I've loved you
Since my eye saw you.

You were so dear to me
And I wanted you so much
So I thought sometimes
That I may well die.

Oh, lass you…
You came at last.
I have expected some luck
— But not that much.

Why was that lucky?
What made you come?
I feel your warm lungful of air,
When you bring close your mouth to my ear.

(1876)

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