When the dusk settles with quiet whispers

N' into carmine cape the sky itself cloaks

N' the torched dome above the river evokes           

- Its waves sparkling silk-like as it scampers -

Standing on the bank watching the waters,

So many thoughts my troubled mind provokes,  

As honey-taste of your lips it invokes;                  

Laying wreath on my memory-altars.

As I brood over long faded feelings,

The wind whispers amongst the dying leaves;

I can almost feel your body's soft touch

- I wished for no such painful awakenings -

I ask: how come my heart still so grieves,

N' how could I have ever loved you so much?

© P. J. Oszmann (August 1952- in Hungarian; translation 2003)

(A youthful piece inspired by the sonnets of Petrarch.)