From A Broken Lyre Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

My cry is from a broken lyre,
With wind' sound, lacking sympathy,
It takes to the air
And lamenting, it stops on a grave.

Is she the lady
Whom God has destined for me?
Has she dressed warmly
And sits on that wedding bed?

I search for her, my thought sees her.
But I haven't seen her, ever…
The darling that smiles at me
Could she be in a grave?

(1867)

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