UN SENTIMENTAL

T O T A L V I S I T

Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?

Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.

Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make Time's spoils despised everywhere.

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POEZII

...Vino-n codru la izvorul
Care tremura pe prund,
Unde prispa cea de brazde
Crengi plecate o ascund.

Si in bratele-mi intinse
Sa alergi, pe piept sa-mi cazi,
Sa-ti desprind din creştet valul,
Sa-l ridic de pe obraz.

Pe genunchii mei şedea-vei,
Vom fi singuri-singurei,
Iar an par anfiorate
Or sa-ti cada flori de tei.

Fruntea alba-n parul galben
Pe-al meu brat ancet s-o culci,
Lasand prada gurii mele
Ale tale buze dulci...
.......EMINESCU>... ...

POVESTA
Nu ti-am spus ce-mi doresc. Pentru ca nici mie nu mi-a fost inca revelat misterul. Dar te-am chemat totuşi in basmul camerei mele. Unde obişnuiesc, de atatea şi atatea ori, sa ma ratacesc. In intuneric, printre statuile egiptene, lebedele de argint. Doua la numar. Bine cunoscutele *Doua Pasari* ale iubirii mele Printre ochii atintiti, parca mereu, acerb, asupra noastra, din fotografiile ce impanzesc raftul. Printre gene; m-adormi, te-adorm, şi ai ei suntem !
De cand ai paşit prima data in ea, parca ai lasat o parte din tine. Inca respira in plamanii peretilor incalziti de calmul simtirii tale.
De cand ai paşit prima data in ea, a-nceput a-mi şopti, in fiecare zi şi noapte, petrecuta intr-insa, povesta ta. Secretul tau. Mirosul tau

Nu ti-am spus ce-mi doresc. Intre peretii camerei mele, sub cortina de sunete a unei melodii, s-a consumat prima atingere. Au fost spuse destule in miezul ei, concentrat, de senzatii.

A curs prima lacrima"

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When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls, all silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,

Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow;

And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

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