The schoolmarm, by Octavian Goga – Lyrics

(Apasă aici pentru Română)


"When trembling its sorrow and its shyness,
A wandering song embraces its nature,
And a shadow raised rose dies,
And there’s no sun to cry its waste,
I cry then, ‘cause you arise before me,
Our time’s righteous martyr,
Meek child, untimely quiet 
Timid, fair schoolmarm.

As the glow of your clear eyes,
There’s no story told more woeful,
You are a cradle sister with shyness,
On your lips trembled no lure/temptation.
Your crown of days and dreams 
Was weaved by mean fates,
As for your face, there’s no snow face,
And hand there’s none so knowing.

Old men, readers of pew’s books,
From your speech gather knowledge,
It seems it’s written in your smiles
The serenity of the Scripture’s word.
In their beards gray as the twilight,
They amass the offering of the holy tears,
For they see truly incarnated the breviary
In your soft and wise words.

The wives come to you to cry
Their sons left in the emperor’s service,
And you hide a tear ‘tween the words,
In other countries where you send their sigh.
And girls come, to flourish their chemise,
At your verge the lane is full,
And the girls are whispering in secret:
“What beautiful hands has the lady!”.

… So, taking care of other mothers’ children,
You wither smiling in your way, maiden,
And the head of your cruel sleep
Of a dessert dream futile it thrills.
You seem to hear how it trickles at the windows
The twitter of a swallow’s nestling
And a lonesome thought heats your forehead,
With you fells asleep a sweet, holy fear.

Timid, the twilight of the gloomy autumn
Moves slowly its sick adornment,
As out of censers the incense’s smoke,
Long struggles the grove’s leaf.
You’re sitting on the doorstep and out of the berry tree a leaf
At your bosom descended to die,
And the wind says to the bent branches
Your story, beautiful lady…"

Lyrics: Octavian Goga.
English translation: Poliana Raisa.

This poem, written by Romanian writer Octavian Goga, was inspired by the sad story of his sister.

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