De ce nu-mi vii? … Mihai Eminescu

It’s that time of the year again when I pick one lovely poem from Eminescu (well known Romanian poet) and this year, I’ve chosen a ballad of love and yearning where the man is desperately waiting for his lover to come to him. Some finer points lost in translation are the use of the possessive “mi” in “nu-mi vii?” meaning that the longing is so hard that even the question asked is about himself. Why don’t you come to me?

As per many of his poems, a strong connection with nature can be seen in the use of animals which are also leaving (the swallows), in the trees that are shedding their beloved leaves and all the fields have been emptied out.
When nature goes to the desolation of autumn and winter, the feelings of loss are that much stronger.

Vezi, rândunelele se duc,
Se scutur frunzele de nuc,
S-aşează bruma peste vii –
De ce nu-mi vii, de ce nu-mi vii?


O, vino iar în al meu braţ,
Să te privesc cu mult nesaţ,
Să razim dulce capul meu
De sânul tău, de sânul tău!

Ţi-aduci aminte cum pe-atunci
Când ne primblam prin văi şi lunci,
Te ridicam de subsuori
De-atâtea ori, de-atâtea ori?

În lumea asta sunt femei
Cu ochi ce izvorăsc scântei…
Dar, oricât ele sunt de sus,
Ca tine nu-s, ca tine nu-s!

Căci tu înseninezi mereu
Viaţa sufletului meu,
Mai mândră decât orice stea,
Iubita mea, iubita mea!

Târzie toamnă e acum,
Se scutur frunzele pe drum,
Şi lanurile sunt pustii…
De ce nu-mi vii, de ce nu-mi vii?

See the swallows quit the eaves
And fall the yellow walnut leaves,
The vines with autumn frost are numb,
Why don’t you come, why don’t you come?


Oh, come into my arms’ embrace
That I may gaze upon your face,
And lay my head in grateful rest
Against your breast, against your breast!

Do you remember when we strayed
The meadows and the secret glade,
I kissed you midst flowering thyme
How many a time, how many a time?

Some women on the earth there are
Whose eyes shine as the evening star,
But be their charm no matter what,
Like you they’re not, like you they’re not!

For you shine in my soul always
More softly than the starlight blaze,
More splendid than the risen sun,
Beloved one, beloved one!

But it is late in autumn now,
The leaves have fallen from the bough,
The fields are bare, the birds are dumb…
Why don’t you come, why don’t you come?



See other love poems here:

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