Fair Venice now lies dead upon the ground
You don't hear songs, the party lights are out;
On marble stairs and through the gates, no doubt,
The light pervades, bleaching the things around.
Okeanos weeps and on canals he calls...
Forever young, he mourns his dear sweet wife,
To whom would like to give the breath of life,
That's why he strikes with waves the ancient walls.
A graveyard seems the citadel, alas!
St. Mark, the priest who always has been here,
Heralds the midnight from a bell of brass.
Like Sibyls, with his voice so deep and clear,
He utters slowly: “Better is to pass
Than trying to revive the dead, my dear!”.
Translator: Octavian Cocoş
see more poems written by: Mihai Eminescu
