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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=589700" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Melancholy [Melancolie]</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=589700" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">It was as if a gate was opened in the clouds<br>Through which the dead night's queen emerged in thin, white shrouds.<br>Oh, sleep in peace among the torches shining bright,<br>Rest in your bluish tomb and bathe in silver light,<br>The starry sky above, your monument will be,<br>Majestic queen of night that anyone can see!<br>The world beneath is large, but rime is all around,<br>Resembling a thin veil that covers all the ground;<br>The air is full of sparks, the buildings gnawed by time<br>Gleam like a bunch of ruins that have been smeared with lime. <br>The isolated graveyard is covered with thick moss,<br>A greyish owl is resting on a lopsided cross,<br>The wooden plank is sounding, the bell tower is creaking,<br>The cunning evil demon somewhere around is sneaking,<br>But when his wing is touching the shining copper bell<br>From it a sound emerges, like a pathetic spell. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=589700" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The church now feels the cold<br>Deserted are its ruins, and very sad and old<br>And through the broken windows and through the open door<br>The wind is blowing harshly and you can hear its roar – <br>Inside the nave, on pillars, iconostasis, walls,<br>Faded conturs are present and a big shadow crawls;<br>The priest is a small cricket, who spins an obscure thought,<br>While cantor is the mildew, who the decay has brought. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=589700" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">................................................................................</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=589700" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The faith paints in the church small icons, full of glory, <br>And in my soul it slips its most amazing story,<br>But from the waves of life and from the stormy days<br>Only outlines remain and shadows and thick haze.<br>In vain I search my world within my weary brain,<br>Because a sad, hoarse cricket is singing in the rain;<br>On my deserted heart in vain my hand I keep,<br>It's beating like a fungus in coffins buried deep. <br>And when I think about my life, it seems to flow<br>Like an account retold by someone I don't know,<br>As if it weren't mine, as if I lost a part,<br>So, who's the guy who tells my story now by heart?<br>I lend my ear to him and laugh of what he said,<br>As if it were a fiction... as if I were long dead.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Mihai+Eminescu">Mihai Eminescu</a></strong>, translated by Octavian Cocoş</div>