Selected Poems

The years have passed ...


The years have passed like clouds across the dale;
The years have gone and will return no more,
For they no longer move me, as the lore
Of legend, and of song, and doina's tale
Brought wonder to my boyish brow of yore,
And mystery its meaning half unveil.
Your shade falls round me now to no avail,
O secret twilight hour on evening's shore.
To tear a sound out of the life that's gone,
To stir within my soul again its thrill
My hand upon the silent lyre is numb.
Ay, all is lost beneath youth's horizon,
The tender voice of bygone days is still,
While time rolls out behind me... night has come.

And if...

And if the branches tap my pane
And the poplars whisper nightly,
It is to make me dream again
I hold you to me tightly.

And if the stars shine on the pond
And light its sombre shoal,
It is to quench my mind's despond
And flood with peace my soul.

And if the clouds their tresses part
And does the moon outblaze,
It is but to remind my heart
I long for you always.

Beats the moon upon ...

Beats the moon upon my window
Down the same untroubled lane.
Only you are never passing,
Nevermore beyond my pane.
And the same prune trees in blossom
Reach their branches o'er the fence,
But the hours the past has taken
Never shall again come thence.
Other is your soul's intention,
Other eyes you have today,
Only I who am unchanging
Tread for ever that same way.
O, how slim and young and graceful,
Secretly with paces slow,
Would you come to me at evening
'Neath the hidden hawthorn's bough.
While my arms were clasped about you
It seemed we from the earth had sped;
And we talked great things together,
Though not a word had either said.
Kisses were our single answer,
Many queries, just one task,
While about the world beyond us
Neither had the time to ask.
Aye, little I knew in youth's enchantment
That it is alike absurd
Or to lean against a shadow,
Or believe a woman's word.
And the air still moves my curtain
As it used in times of yore...
Moonlight down the lane uncertain,
Only you come nevermore.






Venice


Mighty Venice now has fallen low,
One hears no songs, no sound of festive balls;
On steps of marble and through gateways falls
The pallid moon's unearthly silver glow.
Okeanos there his sorrow calls...
In him alone eternal youth does blow,
Yet on his bride would he his breath bestow,
The waves break plaintively against the walls.
The town is silent as a burial ground;
Only the priests of bygone days remain,
Saint Mark tolls sinister the midnight round;
In sombre tones his slow sibylline strainHe nightly speaks with smooth and cadenced sound;
"The dead, my child, no more come back again".

The Lake

Water lilies load all over
The blue lake amid the woods,
That imparts, while in white circles
Startling, to a boat its moods.

And along the strands I'm passing
Listening, waiting, in unrest,
That she from the reeds may issue
And fall, gently, on my breast;

That we may jump in the little
Boat, while water's voices whelm
All our feelings; that enchanted
I may drop my oars and helm;

That all charmed we may be floating
While moon's kindly light surrounds
Us, winds cause the reeds to rustle
And the waving water sounds.

But she does not come; abandoned,
Vainly I endure and sigh
Lonely, as the water lilies
On the blue lake ever lie.

A Dacian's Prayer

When death did not exist, nor yet eternity,
Before the seed of life had first set living free,
When yesterday was nothing, and time had not begun,
And one included all things, and all was less than one,
When sun and moon and sky, the stars, the spinning earth
Were still part of the things that had not come to birth,
And You quite lonely stood... I ask myself with awe,
Who is this mighty God we bow ourselves before.


Ere yet the Gods existed already He was God
And out of endless water with fire the lightning shed;
He gave the Gods their reason, and joy to earth did bring,
He brought to man forgiveness, and set salvation's spring
Lift up your hearts in worship, a song of praise enfreeing,
He is the death of dying, the primal birth of being.


To him I owe my eyes that I can see the dawn,
To him I owe my heart wherein is pity born;
Whene'er I hear the tempest, I hear him pass along
Midst multitude of voices raised in a holy song;
And yet of his great mercy I beg still one behest:
That I at last be taken to his eternal rest.


Be curses on the fellow who would my praise acclaim,
But blessings upon him who does my soul defame;
Believe no matter whom who slanders my renown,
Give power to the arm that lifts to strike me down;
Let him upon the earth above all others loom
Who steals away the stone that lies upon my tomb.


Hunted by humanity, let me my whole life fly
Until I feel from weeping my very eyes are dry;
Let everyone detest me no matter where I go,
Until from persecution myself I do not know;
Let misery and horror my heart transform to stone,
That I may hate my mother, in whose love I have grown;
Till hating and deceiving for me with love will vie,
And I forget my suffering, and learn at last to die.


Dishonoured let me perish, an outcast among men;
My body less than worthy to block the gutter then,
And may, o God of mercy, a crown of diamonds wear
The one who gives my heart the hungry dogs to tear,
While for the one who in my face does callous fling a clod
In your eternal kingdom reserve a place, o God.


Thus only, gracious Father, can I requitance give
That you from your great bounty vouched me the joy to live;
To gain eternal blessings my head I do not bow,
But rather ask that you in hating compassion show.
Till comes at last the evening, your breath will mine efface,
And into endless nothing I go, and leave no trace.

Return

"Forest, trusted friend and true,
Forest dear, how do you do?
Since the day I saw you last
Many, many years have passed
And though you still steadfast stand
I have travelled many a land."
"Yea, and I, what have I done?
Watched the years their seasons run;
Heard the squalls that through me groan
Ere my singing birds have flown;
Heard the creaking of my boughs
Neath the mounted winter snows.
Yea indeed, what have I done?
Done as I have always done;
Felt my summer leaves re-growing,
Heard the village girls who going
By the path that meets the spring
Melancholy doina sing."
"Forest, though the tempests blow,
The years come and the years go,
And the seasons wax and wane,
You are ever young again."
"What of seasons, when for ages
All the sky my lake engages;
What of years ill or good,
When the sap mounts in the wood;
What of years good or ill,
When the Danube rolls on still.
Only man is always changing,
O'er the world forever ranging;
We each do our place retain,
As we were, so we remain;
Oceans, rivers, mountains high
And the stars that light the sky,
Saturn with its whirling rings,
And the forest with its springs."






Forest, o, my forest dear


Forest, o, my forest dear,
What dost thou so lonesome here?
For since I have seen thee last
Many weary years have passed,
And since I have gone away
In the world I much did stray.
- O, I do as in the past,
Listen to the winter's blast,
Which my branches tears and breaks,
Chains with ice my streams and lakes,
On my paths snow-hills will lay,
All my songsters drive away.
And I do as long ago,
Listen when the women go
Singing their old doina song,
As they walk the path along,
To the fountain, where they still
Come their water pails to fill.

- Forest dear with quiet streams
All in this world flowing seems;
Time goes past, but only thou
Still art young and younger now.
- What is time, when every night
Shines for me the stars' still light!
Be the weather good or bad,
Be it sunny, be it sad,
Winds through rustling leaves still blow
And Danube's waters flow.
Man alone is wavering,
Changeable and wandering,
While we all the same remain,
Mountains, rivers, the great main,
As we were so we abide,
This great world with deserts wide,
Sun, moon, stars, eternal things,
And the forest with its springs.






Sonnet I


Without 'tis autumn, the wind beats on the pane
With heavy drops, the leaves high upwards sweep.
You take old letters from a crumpled heap,
And in one hour have lived your life again.
Musing, in this sweet wise the moments creep:
You pray no caller will your door attain;
Better it is when dreary falls the rain
To dream before the fire, awaiting sleep.
And thus alone, reclining in my chair,
The fairy Dochia's tale comes to my mind
While round me haze is gath'ring in the air.
Then softly down the passage footsteps wind,
Faint, sound of rustling silk upon the stair...
And now my eyes cold, tapering fingers bind.

Sonnet II


The years have sped, and time still swiftly flies
Since that first sacred hour in which we met;
But how we loved I can no more forget,
Sweet wonder with cold hands and such big eyes.
O, come again! Your words inspire me yet,
While your soft gaze upon me gently lies,
That 'neath its ray new life in me shall rise,
And you new songs upon my lyre beget.
When you come near to me you little know
How soothed my heart is then, as though with balm,
As when some star does in the heavens show;
Your childish smile so full of tender charm
Has power to quench this life drawn out in woe
And fill my eyes with fire, my soul with calm.

Sonnet III


When e'en the inner voice of thought is still,
And does some sacred chant my soul endear,
'Tis then I call to thee; but will you hear?
Will from the floating mists your form distill?
Will night its tender power of wonder rear
And your great, peaceful eyes their light fulfil,
That of the rays that bygone hours spill
To me as in a dream you do appear?
But come to me... come near, come still more near...
Smiling you bend to gaze into my face
While does your sigh gentle love make clear.
Upon my eyes I feel your lashes' trace,
O love, for ever lost, for ever dear,
To know the aching thrill of your embrace!