The Night's Mysteries Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

The night slowly comes
— From golden stars —
With sighing shadows,
With whispering air-spirits
— And with love-dreams.

How many hearts full of pleasure
Slowly step up their beats once more?
And how many painful hearts
Does it pacify with its gentle and slow call
— And its mystic song?

Two whitish shadows
— Like snow flakes —
In the pale rays of the moon
Merge and spin
— For the entire future times.

But two angels sing in cry.
They sing agonizingly into the night.
And like two stars they die.
Two stars in agreement,
Fall down together.

Eros, hops like mad,
In a turtle-dove nest
— Which is light as a butterfly.
With a dream of a secret plea,
It cuddles it and warms it.

And in this mist of perfumes
Two sorts of flowers,
The night's groom splits
— With his fantastic whisper.
Them he breaks them until they perish.

When the night sleeps softly
— On golden stars—
Over how many laughing hearts,
He slowly walks,
And on how many sighing ones?
And so it is our destiny.
Much often it is cruel.
To one it grants the world,
While another is baptised
— With a dew of tears.

(1866 October 16/28)

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