On The Hill At Dusk Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

At dusk on the hill, the horn calls with melancholy.
The herds climb up, as stars sparkle on their way.
Water gushes and flows inside fountains.
Darling, you wait for me beneath an acacia tree.

Sacred and serene the moon crosses the sky.
Looking at the depleted leaf is your large teary eye.
Stars rise on the clear dome.
Your heart is full of desire. Your head is full of ideas.

The clouds drift. Rays split their lines.
The old eaves of houses rise towards the moon.
The water-well squeaks in the wind.
The valley is filled with smoke.
Shepherd's flutes play muffled at sheepfold.

And tired, people with scythes on their backs,
Come back from the field. The bell rings louder at vespers.
The old bell fills the evening with its sound.
My heart is overcome with love, like a flame.

Oh, soon the valley and the village will be quiet.
Oh, soon I'll quicken my steps towards you.
We shall sit all night next to an acacia tree.
I'll recount for hours how dear you are to me.

We shall lean our heads on each other' s shoulder joyously.
And smiling, we shall sit beneath the old and tall acacia tree.
Who wouldn't give up even his life
— For such a precious night?

(1883, July 1)

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