Page:Poems (Eminescu).pdf/52



By secret love of thee I thought it right To keep full silence, deemed this pleasèd thee, I in thy looks saw an eternity Of dreams consuming with their high delight.

I can no more. My longing, love’s great might Lends wingèd words to that sweet mystery, And, all on fire, I would consumèd be In that dear heart that would with mine unite.

That I am burning how canst thou not feel? My lips with thirst for thee are parched and dry; Fair maid, alone thou canst my fever heal.

A breath of thine alone may soothe my sigh, And when thou smil’st my thought with joy doth reel, O end my pain—come to my breast, come nigh!

Like clouds o’er plains have passed the years so long, And back again they’ll never more be wiled, They charm no longer as they charmed, beguiled The youth, those tales and riddles, that sweet song,

Scarce understood, delightful for the child, With meaning full, for which I much did long— In vain surrounds me now thy shadows’ throng O hour of mystery, O twilight mild!

Of life’s dear past how can I hear the chimes, And make thee tremble now again, my soul? In vain I play my lyre, in vain I hearken:

’Tis dumb the lovely voice of those old times, My youth is far, my joy is lost, the whole, And Time runs fast behind… My mind doth darken!