In bad rhymes when you are sinking,
Using dactyls and wrong styles
And with your uncertain thinking,
Only blot the paper piles;
When you see a woman walking
And bow down, for you are stirred,
Feeling glad when she is talking,
Just to swallow every word;
Soiled, unkempt, despite the weather,
Shabby, lewd, a jerk somehow –
All these things, when put together,
Show you are a poet now.
Translator: Octavian Cocoş
see more poems written by: Mihai Eminescu
