by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)
The wave fizzes, the wind blows
With its cold breath
Over the sea, which sighs sadly,
But is clear.
Why am I not the wind,
Which blows over the large mirror of the sea?
Is it the sea, which line up shimmering waters
With tiny waves
That keeps on blasting air?
Since I could pass as a symbolic,
Comforting with dedication
Over a sea full of mysteries
That holds close the skies.
Through the sad dreams
About the lass
I adore and I sing,
How the harp buzzes about a saintly being.
(1869)
translated by
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem