Miradoniz - Mihai Eminescu's poem

[vesperala]

If you wish to understand the poem on castle page of the site, http://vesperala.com/castle/ , I found it translated for you ..

 

 

 

 

Miradonis

by Mihai Eminescu

 

Miradonis had a stone’ palace.

As a roof, an old forest it was.

And pillars, mountain ranges were,

Dark and made of basalt, and fold over;

While the age-old eves on the height,

The old woods rustle, blown by the air current.

In the woods a low valley is out of sight.

Old as the Earth, with its trunks split.

At the dark rocky’ stairway

That to the palace led the way,

It devours half of the peak.

A low valley long and thick

Cut by an old and deep river

That on its wavy back, appear

It carries the islands that on it has.

The garden of Mira’s palace is

A valley as big as a country, and in the palace,

If you pass through the row of pillars,

You find high halls with forests of flowers.

Shine black, their ceilings.

Forests whose flowers are as big as trees.

Roses like suns and lilies

Like antique silver urns,

Hang down on long shoots.

And the air is like summer’ s, pure and flowing.

The tiny flies between leaves, like stars are shining.

And with a pale green, clear and scented light fill the warm air.

Butterflies with golden hair

And with rainbow like tiny wings, in silver gear

Flap their wings from flower to flower,

And dip their moist and red little mouth in the fragrant bowl

That of nectar of all flowers is full.

Sprinkled with swelled sweet suns with nice smell,

Rose bushes are dark green meadows of shade full.

It is the giants’ flower garden.

If you look through the forest eaves far on,

The granite dome is cracked in one spot.

There on the sky, the moon rises bit by bit.

A young and blonde queen she is.

In her blue mantle full of stars,

With her hands as one on her white bosoms, she goes by.

She sheds light with her big blue eye.

Through tiers of clouds from a puffed shoot,

Mauve roses and silver lilies she would remit.

From time to time with her silvery hand

Like a precious inspiration she had,

She picks a flower and throws it on the ground.

There—set apart and gray— rises a cloud

Takes shape, forms and stands still;

It turns into a Greek temple and full

Of the column’s shade surrounding it; And through the column,

It glows some silver ray of the moon.

To that palace the way she takes.

Her diamond diadem, fused in stars, brighter the night it makes.

The dome’s faint peaks become clear and she goes into.

The columns are alight under its clear glow

And cast shades one on the other.

She enters in the dome. The stars follow her.

And the sacred night is full of shade. On the embankment

Of sacred river that flows in the large valley, in the old forest,

Mira’s garden is placed.

Like hollows of incense sacred islands rise in it.

They are girls with dark and round eyes.

Of emerald, with rocks of myrrh with gold’ flowers,

Scattered and cracked in big chunks

Crossing the green and superb plains, on the breathtaking tracks,

There is a silver dust. On the sides of the roads

Blossoming cherry trees shake off flowers,

A buildup of rose petals, like snow colored red.

Heaps of flowers— like a snowdrift— the wind carries instead.

It raises it like waves.

And sacred willows move above the water their silver leaves

And reflect in its depths so, it appear

From the same root an island rises and one goes under.

And on these branches there is nothing.

Just from one tree to the other, on a string

An emerald cobweb, the spiders knit,

It is thin and hard as diamond bit.

And like clocks thrown in the grass crickets sing continuously.

And over the large river, from the top of an old tree,

With a cobweb tough as diamond, they weaved a bridge.

And they fasten it, on other trees on the other side of the water’s edge.

Throughout the clear and transparent bridge pass through the moon’s rays

And fairy Mira like in a wonderful never seen enchanted occurrence,

Changes into green, the color of the river with its many waves

And over the bridge, weightless, supple and young, she goes across,

White like the snow into the night,

With her lily like hands, slowly her golden hair she would plait.

Through her white clothes pure limbs let somebody see

With her white feet, the long bridge she touches merely.

She strolls and at her flower garden appears.

A silver ghost in the garden thick shade she is.

Here, to pick a flower she bends to the floor.

So she can throw it into the water on the old river.

There, she runs after a butterfly.

She catches it and sets it free after she kisses its eye.

After that, she catches a supernatural golden bird,

She sits on its back. Into the night full of stars, they both fly without a sound.

 

(1872)

 

translated by: Peter Mamara

Source of this translation