A Harp On A Grave Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

Pretty woman, you go by in my sad and dark thoughts,
White like a sculpture, in a silver dress,
With your big blue eyes with dark arches,
And your hair is undone in soft golden waves…
Above your head is a nice-looking circle of stars
— And so you pass, the spirit of my mind, young woman
— The wonder of Creation.
And a single thought makes you tremble:
It's a harp on a grave.

Yes, yes! You go by in my sad life, with your blue like stars eyes.
And in your flight, you whisper and you smile…
Is it love, or it's a childish thing?
Are my verses obsessing your mind that you speak softly while dreaming?
You smile! Don't cry only at the end of the poem:
—With a harp on a grave.

Oh! If I die… angel you, without you ever knowing
That the one who rests six feet under, had loved you,
And that buried with him is an entire heaven of dreams,
Swarming starry skies of lofty thoughts,
And that his whole world was dedicated to you —
White, innocent young woman — then you'd go by smiling…
Only the moon on the sky, would then pluck the lyre.
And would sigh into the night:
— A harp on a grave.
(1873)

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