MAY GIVES ITSELF WITH SWEET ABANDON
by Lucian Blaga
by Lucian Blaga
We shall remember once, too late,
This simple happening, so fine,
This very bench where we are seated,
Your burning temple next to mine.
This simple happening, so fine,
This very bench where we are seated,
Your burning temple next to mine.
From hazel stamens, cinders fall
White as the poplars that they land on,
Beginnings want to be fecund,
May gives itself with sweet abandon.
White as the poplars that they land on,
Beginnings want to be fecund,
May gives itself with sweet abandon.
The pollen falls on both of us,
Small mountains made of golden ashes
It forms around us, and it falls
On our shoulders and our lashes.
Small mountains made of golden ashes
It forms around us, and it falls
On our shoulders and our lashes.
It falls into our mouths when speaking,
On eyes, when we are mute with wonder
And there’s regret, but we don’t know
Why it would tear us both asunder.
On eyes, when we are mute with wonder
And there’s regret, but we don’t know
Why it would tear us both asunder.
We shall remember once, too late,
This simple happening, so fine,
This very bench where we are seated
Your burning temple next to mine.
This simple happening, so fine,
This very bench where we are seated
Your burning temple next to mine.
In dreams, through longings, we can see
All latent in the dust of gold
These forests that perhaps could be
But that will never, ever, grow.
All latent in the dust of gold
These forests that perhaps could be
But that will never, ever, grow.