SONNET I
Without
'tis autumn, the wind beats on the pane
With heavy drops, the leaves high
upwards sweep.
You take old letters from a crumpled heap,
And in one hour have lived your life
again.
Musing, in this sweet wise the moments creep:
You pray no caller will your door
attain;
Better it is when dreary falls the rain
To dream before the fire, awaiting
sleep.
And thus alone, reclining in my chair,
The fairy Dochia's tale comes to my
mind
While round me haze is gath'ring in the
air.
Then softly down the passage footsteps wind,
Faint, sound of rustling silk upon the
stair...
And now my eyes cold, tapering fingers
bind.
English
version by Corneliu
M. Popescu
SONNET III
When e'en the inner voice of thought is still,
And does some sacred chant my soul
endear,
'Tis then I call to thee; but will you
hear?
Will from the floating mists your form
distil?
Will night its tender power of wonder rear
And your great, peaceful eyes their
light fulfil,
That of the rays that bygone hours
spill
To me as in a dream you do appear?
But come to me... come near, come still more near...
Smiling you bend to gaze into my face
While does your sigh gentle love make
clear.
Upon my eyes I feel you lashes' trace,
O love, for ever lost, for ever dear,
To know the aching thrill of your
embrace!
English
version by Corneliu
M. Popescu
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