Verses by George Topârceanu, translated by Julia Kalman
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In the delicate thread of thought,
A sigh cuts through, sweetly sought.
For so long, alone I spin,
In my chamber, lost within.
With labor, my hand carefully weaves
Flowers of thread, my heart conceives.
Yet, my thoughts, in distant flight,
Choose blossoms with no delight.
Sometimes, as I hold it near,
A stitched flower, crystal clear,
I close my eyes, anticipating,
His kiss upon lips, captivating.
When shadows of evening descend,
Longing within me starts to ascend.
Sadness overwhelms my core,
Heavy, like a burden to adore.
I know well, in futile wait,
Love urges me, a tempting bait.
To expect him with tears in vain,
At the fountain, in the night’s reign.
He won’t come to hear me speak,
Whispering all the love I seek.
To warm his frozen hands and heart,
My embrace, a soothing art.
Instead, the chilly night wind blows,
Kissing my forehead, it softly knows.
Over the woods, the moon glides,
Yellow and silent, as darkness abides.
The beech trees sigh deeply, slow,
On the hillsides, a lamenting show.
Sweet night, my dearest one,
Has departed, in battles to be won.
George Topârceanu (born on March 20, 1886, Bucharest — died on May 7, 1937, Iași) was a Romanian poet, prose writer, memoirist, and journalist, corresponding member of the Romanian Academy.
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Julia Kalman 