It Tolls The Midnight Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

It tolls the midnight in the bronze bell
And sleep — my life's revenue official,
Doesn't wish to take my fee.
My mind wants to carry me on ways I often walked.
So I can draw a comparison between life and death.
But the balance of my thought doesn't change even now.
Since the pointer doesn't move between them two.

(1883, July 4)

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