Solitude [Singurătate]

With the curtains pulled together
At my table made of wood
Near the fire burning slowly
I am in a thinking mood.

Through my mind are swiftly passing
Many thoughts that it recalls,
Chirping like a group of crickets
Among black and ancient walls.

In the soul then they are falling,
Breaking less and sometimes more,
As the burning wax is dripping
On the church's marble floor.

In the chamber, at the corners
Spider webs hang all around,
While the mice are slowly sneaking
On the shelves and on the ground.

In this peace reigning all over
I am casting bitter looks
When I hear the mice are crunching
The hard covers of my books.

Oh, how many times I wanted
To reject the lyre's call,
To forget my desolation
And my rhymes once and for all.

But then come the mice and crickets,
Walking slowly all the time,
Bringing back my gloomy feeling,
Which becomes again a rhyme.

Sometimes... but not very often...
When the lamp burns and I rest,
Suddenly, I hear the door knob
And my heart leaps from my chest.

It is her and in a moment
All my desert house looks right
And my dusky life is lighted
By her icon in the night.

I'm upset that time still passes
And at such a hurried pace,
When I'm talking to my darling
Hand in hand and face to face.

poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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