THE MURMUR OF THE FOREST 

On the pond bright sparks are falling,
Wavelets in the sunlight glisten ;
Gazing on the woods with rapture ,
Do I let my spirit capture
Drowsiness, and lie and listen...
Quails are calling. 

All the silent water sleeping
Of the streams and of the rivers ;
Only where the sun is shining
Thousand circles there designing
As with fright its surface shivers,
Swiftly leaping. 

Pipe the birds midst woods concealing,
Which of us their language guessing ?
Birds of endless kinds and races
Chirp amidst its leafy places
And what wisdom they expressing
And what feeling. 

Asks the cuckoo: "Who has seen
Our beloved summer idol ,
Beautiful beyond all praising
Through her languid lashes gazing,
Pur most lovely, tender, bridal,
Forest queen ?" 

Bends the lime with gentle care
Her sweet body to embower ;
In the breeze his branches singing
Lift her in their arms upswinging,
While a hundred blossoms shower
On her hair. 

Asks the brooklet as it flows :
" Where has gone my lovely lady ? 
She, who evening hour beguiling,
In my silver surface smiling,
Broke its mirror deep and shady
With her toes ?" 

I replied:" O forest, she 
Comes no more, no more returning !
Only you, great oaks, still dreaming
Violet eyes, like flowers gleaming,
That the summer through were yearning
Just for me." 

Happy then, alone we twain,
Through the forest brush-wood striding !
Sweet enchanted tale of wonder
That the darkness broke asunder...
Dear, wherever you'd be hiding,
Come again ! 

English version by Corneliu M. Popescu

HOME > LITERATURE > POETRY > EMINESCU’ POEMS