A Glance Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

Young woman, you have thrown me out, pitilessly,
When I sought to ravage your sweet good looks, without mercy.
Although your body is of a full-grown young age
— Demonic breed you, with a sweet rage.
I've left. I carry etched into my chest, my entire grief
— How the spring-wind carries a tree-leaf.
And all the pain huddles in, when I fall asleep at night.
It chars and torments my heart.
In my dream, it seemed that I woke and saw you on my bed.
You crease my white bed sheet with your gentle hand.
Your stylish coat hangs on your shoulder just right.
And your bosom was freed of the coat's cruel constraint.
And fresh, white, round and firm, it rises and it lowers
And your eyes burn with tears, with sweet kindness' tears.
At your warm breath, your dried mouth grows prepared,
Half-opened nice pearls can be seen moving like on parade.
I clenched wildly your loins with my arms.
And I wanted to bite your small lips.
You smile and shield yourself. You cover your bosoms with one hand.
Your gaze swims wet: when hostile, when kind.
You get weaker. I carry you off by the hips with your consent.
And your love wakes you up. You let loose with disgust.
And you clench wildly your creased little lips.
You move your hair aside from your face — you cry and shake, young one, you.
You bend your shape at hips. You want to get away from my hands.
Like a hyacinth bends in one's fingers, when one wants to break it.
But your blood is now sweet like the grapes' sweetness,
It boils intensely in your veins and it exorcizes your mind.
Then you fell to my chest like a rickety target
— The ripe fruit of my love's forbidden excitement.
You moan once more, like the person that dies.
And then Sibyl, you surrender to the passion that was burning you and me.
And in our fight, I brought you under the weight of my potency.
I've broken the seal that up to now has preserved your virginity.
We coiled as one body the two of us.
Without being seen we lived our days,
In a spasmodic, feverish sweet-demonic, loving fashion;
And then our souls hanged on our lips or on each one's tongue.
We became as one with hugs, with love and kisses.
You and I, we had surrendered to the night of horrors.
Young woman, we've finished each other. We choked in kisses.
(1878)

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