At A Woman Artist Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)
I
Yesterday I thought that your star is an angel-heart,
Which pulsates from heaven a golden thought,
And it's glowing its rays, with the gift for song
— On a laurel meadow.
And you, who are the singer of heavenly cries,
I thought you were the reflection of a pale star
— Seen on top of a rebellious sea-wave.

But today the poet with his heart in heavens,
Attracted by your voice in a heaven of mysteries,
Remembers that on the open sky,
He saw and heard an angel singing the Reverie
On a wing of gold, with an Ave Maria —
And he sees again in you, the angel's sublime desire.
II
How a swan dreams all its life about a divine song,
Not the song of the dying wave on the clear shimmer of the sea,

Or how a yellow meadow dreams a whole winter at a divine sound,
Not the strong winter gales, not the Aeolus's harp in the wind,

But how a swan sings the death-song, which is about Death with its nice visage.
And the meadow's dreams: about a sad song, about a wandering young man.

And so Romania, forgotten in the charred and old Carpathian Mountains,
It has dreamed of your sweet voice, about a song full of longings,

In the same way a swan knows that the sound, which comes
From water depths, are souls of dead swans which, eternally shed tears.

And so, Romania knows that your divine voice,
Italy — its sister— was able to have it at her bosoms.

Now Italy salutes you. She imagined you in her dreams — You come
Like a song from a sister to her sister, that had vanished into this world.
(1860 August 18-30)

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