The Lake Poem by Peter Mamara

By M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

The blue lake of the forest,
With yellow water lilies it is filled.
It swings a boat,
Which goes up and down in clear circles.

And I walk along the shores.
It seems that I listen. And I wait.
So she can come out of the reeds
And fall gently to my chest.

And echoed by the murmur of the water,
We shall jump together in the small boat.
And I shall drop the helm off my hand
And the oars shall slip. We shall unwind.

We shall drift full of enchantment
Under the gentle moonlight;
The wind shall gently rustle the reeds like a brush.
And the wavy water shall swish.

But she doesn't come…
Lonely, I sigh and I suffer
Alongside the blue pond
That is filled with water lilies.

(1876 September 1)

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