Mary Tudor Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

Below marble arches,
Why do you look at him with ghastly anxiety in your eyes?
You scrutinize like lions. Your brow perspires.
And your fist wants to increase its rage.

You put your reaper to an uphill struggle.
And his harvests are lives by the bundle.
For his person you faced uprisings
And now you feel like you cuddle a Judas.
People's hate, lifts you up to Heaven.

For, you know how to build
A stairway for Fabian' magnificence
From the slain bodies of lords.

You are the Queen, and so you like it.
The one who sees you, with a thin waxy cheek,
Knowing your life-storm, he or she can't say a thing.
(1876)

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