Prince Charming from the linden
– Blanca, even from the cradle
Your groom is the God above
For you're born, my wretched baby
Of a wrong, unworthy love.
In the monastery Ste. Anna
You will find the holy grace
For your soul, which is resentful,
For the saving of my face.
– I'm not willing, my dear father,
To seclude my happy soul:
I love hunting, I love dancing;
Let the world follow its goal.
I don't want to lose my tresses,
Which are hanging to the ground,
To go blind reading old pages
With pale incense smoke around.
– I know better what is needed,
Leave the world and carry on,
To the monastery tomorrow
We shall leave at early dawn.
Hearing this, she cries in silence,
Thinks to run away from home,
Carried by bizarre ideas,
By an eagerness to roam.
So, she goes to her white stallion,
Takes it out on the large track.
Strokes it on the mane, while crying,
Puts the saddle on its back.
Jumps on it and off she's going,
Her hair loose, her head inclined,
Doesn't look ahead with courage,
Doesn't look at all behind.
On the trails lost in the valley
Through the woods tries to evade
When the red rays of the evening
In the west begin to fade.
Here and there the gloomy shadow
Glimmers with some streaks of light...
She is passing through the thickets,
Bees are buzzing in the night;
[...] Read more
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoș
Added by anonym
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