The Symbolist Movement in Literature/Translations
TRANSLATIONS
From Stéphane Mallarmé
I.HÉRODIADE
Herodiade.
To mine own self I am a wilderness.
You know it, amethyst gardens numberless
Enfolded in the flaming, subtle deep,
Strange gold, that through the red earth's heavy sleep
Has cherished ancient brightness like a dream,
Stones whence mine eyes, pure jewels, have their gleam
Of icy and melodious radiance, you,
Metals, which into my young tresses drew
A fatal splendour and their manifold grace!
Thou, woman, born into these evil days
Disastrous to the cavern sibylline,
Who speakest, prophesying not of one divine,
But of a mortal, if from that close sheath,
My robes, rustle the wild enchanted breath
In the white quiver of my nakedness,
In the warm air of summer, O prophetess,
(And woman's body obeys that ancient claim)
Behold me in my shivering starry shame,
I die!
The horror of my virginity
Delights me, and I would envelop me
In the terror of my tresses, that, by night,
Inviolate reptile, I might feel the white
And glimmering radiance of thy frozen fire,
Thou that art chaste and diest of desire,
White night of ice and of the cruel snow!
Eternal sister, my lone sister, lo
My dreams uplifted before thee! now, apart,
So rare a crystal is my dreaming heart,
I live in a monotonous land alone,
And all about me lives but in mine own
Image, the idolatrous mirror of my pride,
Mirroring this Hérodiade diamond-eyed.
I am indeed alone, O charm and curse!
To mine own self I am a wilderness.
You know it, amethyst gardens numberless
Enfolded in the flaming, subtle deep,
Strange gold, that through the red earth's heavy sleep
Has cherished ancient brightness like a dream,
Stones whence mine eyes, pure jewels, have their gleam
Of icy and melodious radiance, you,
Metals, which into my young tresses drew
A fatal splendour and their manifold grace!
Thou, woman, born into these evil days
Disastrous to the cavern sibylline,
Who speakest, prophesying not of one divine,
But of a mortal, if from that close sheath,
My robes, rustle the wild enchanted breath
In the white quiver of my nakedness,
In the warm air of summer, O prophetess,
(And woman's body obeys that ancient claim)
Behold me in my shivering starry shame,
I die!
The horror of my virginity
Delights me, and I would envelop me
In the terror of my tresses, that, by night,
Inviolate reptile, I might feel the white
And glimmering radiance of thy frozen fire,
Thou that art chaste and diest of desire,
White night of ice and of the cruel snow!
Eternal sister, my lone sister, lo
My dreams uplifted before thee! now, apart,
So rare a crystal is my dreaming heart,
I live in a monotonous land alone,
And all about me lives but in mine own
Image, the idolatrous mirror of my pride,
Mirroring this Hérodiade diamond-eyed.
I am indeed alone, O charm and curse!
Nurse.
O lady, would you die then?
O lady, would you die then?
Herodiade.
No, poor nurse;
Be calm, and leave me; prithee, pardon me,
But, ere thou go, close to the casement; see
How the seraphical blue in the dim glass smiles,
But I abhor the blue of the sky!
Yet miles
On miles of rocking waves! Know'st not a land
Where, in the pestilent sky, men see the hand
Of Venus, and her shadow in dark leaves?
Thither I go.
Light thou the wax that grieves
In the swift flame, and sheds an alien tear
Over the vain gold; wilt not say in mere
Childishness?
No, poor nurse;
Be calm, and leave me; prithee, pardon me,
But, ere thou go, close to the casement; see
How the seraphical blue in the dim glass smiles,
But I abhor the blue of the sky!
Yet miles
On miles of rocking waves! Know'st not a land
Where, in the pestilent sky, men see the hand
Of Venus, and her shadow in dark leaves?
Thither I go.
Light thou the wax that grieves
In the swift flame, and sheds an alien tear
Over the vain gold; wilt not say in mere
Childishness?
Nurse.
Now?
Now?
Herodiade.
Farewell. You lie, O flower
Of these chill lips!
I wait the unknown hour,
Or, deaf to your crying and that hour supreme,
Utter the lamentation of the dream
Of childhood seeing fall apart in sighs
The icy chaplet of its reveries.
Farewell. You lie, O flower
Of these chill lips!
I wait the unknown hour,
Or, deaf to your crying and that hour supreme,
Utter the lamentation of the dream
Of childhood seeing fall apart in sighs
The icy chaplet of its reveries.
II. SIGH
My soul, calm sister, towards thy brow, whereon scarce grieves
An autumn strewn already with its russet leaves,
And towards the wandering sky of thine angelic eyes,
Mounts, as in melancholy gardens may arise
Some faithful fountain sighing whitely towards the blue!
Towards the blue pale and pure that sad October knew,
When, in those depths, it mirrored languors infinite,
And agonising leaves upon the waters white,
Windily drifting, traced a furrow cold and dun,
Where, in one long last ray, lingered the yellow sun.
An autumn strewn already with its russet leaves,
And towards the wandering sky of thine angelic eyes,
Mounts, as in melancholy gardens may arise
Some faithful fountain sighing whitely towards the blue!
Towards the blue pale and pure that sad October knew,
When, in those depths, it mirrored languors infinite,
And agonising leaves upon the waters white,
Windily drifting, traced a furrow cold and dun,
Where, in one long last ray, lingered the yellow sun.
III. SEA-WIND
The flesh is sad, alas! and all the books are read.
Flight, only flight! I feel that birds are wild to tread
The floor of unknown foam, and to attain the skies!
Nought, neither ancient gardens mirrored in the eyes,
Shall hold this heart that bathes in waters its delight,
O nights! nor yet my waking lamp, whose lonely light
Shadows the vacant paper, whiteness profits best,
Nor the young wife who rocks her baby on her breast.
I will depart! O steamer, swaying rope and spar,
Lift anchor for exotic lands that lie afar!
A weariness, outworn by cruel hopes, still clings
To the last farewell handkerchief's last beckonings!
And are not these, the masts inviting storms, not these
That an awakening wind bends over wrecking seas,
Lost, not a sail, a sail, a flowering isle, ere long?
But, O my heart, hear thou, hear thou the sailors' song!
Flight, only flight! I feel that birds are wild to tread
The floor of unknown foam, and to attain the skies!
Nought, neither ancient gardens mirrored in the eyes,
Shall hold this heart that bathes in waters its delight,
O nights! nor yet my waking lamp, whose lonely light
Shadows the vacant paper, whiteness profits best,
Nor the young wife who rocks her baby on her breast.
I will depart! O steamer, swaying rope and spar,
Lift anchor for exotic lands that lie afar!
A weariness, outworn by cruel hopes, still clings
To the last farewell handkerchief's last beckonings!
And are not these, the masts inviting storms, not these
That an awakening wind bends over wrecking seas,
Lost, not a sail, a sail, a flowering isle, ere long?
But, O my heart, hear thou, hear thou the sailors' song!
IV. ANGUISH
To-night I do not come to conquer thee,
O Beast that dost the sins of the whole world bear,
Nor with my kisses' weary misery
Wake a sad tempest in thy wanton hair;
It is that heavy and that dreamless sleep
I ask of the close curtains of thy bed,
Which, after all thy treacheries, folds thee deep,
Who knowest oblivion better than the dead.
For Vice, that gnaws with keener tooth than Time,
Brands me as thee, of barren conquest proud;
But while thou guardest in thy breast of stone
A heart that fears no fang of any crime,
I wander palely, haunted by my shroud,
Fearing to die if I but sleep alone.
O Beast that dost the sins of the whole world bear,
Nor with my kisses' weary misery
Wake a sad tempest in thy wanton hair;
It is that heavy and that dreamless sleep
I ask of the close curtains of thy bed,
Which, after all thy treacheries, folds thee deep,
Who knowest oblivion better than the dead.
For Vice, that gnaws with keener tooth than Time,
Brands me as thee, of barren conquest proud;
But while thou guardest in thy breast of stone
A heart that fears no fang of any crime,
I wander palely, haunted by my shroud,
Fearing to die if I but sleep alone.
From Paul Verlaine: Fêtes Galantes
I. CLAIR DE LUNE
Your soul is a sealed garden, and there go
With masque and bergamasque fair companies
Playing on lutes and dancing and as though
Sad under their fantastic fripperies.
With masque and bergamasque fair companies
Playing on lutes and dancing and as though
Sad under their fantastic fripperies.
Though they in minor keys go carolling
Of love the conqueror and of life the boon
They seem to doubt the happiness they sing
And the song melts into the light of the moon,
Of love the conqueror and of life the boon
They seem to doubt the happiness they sing
And the song melts into the light of the moon,
The sad light of the moon, so lovely fair
That all the birds dream in the leafy shade
And the slim fountains sob into the air
Among the marble statues in the glade.
That all the birds dream in the leafy shade
And the slim fountains sob into the air
Among the marble statues in the glade.
II. PANTOMIME
Pierrot, no sentimental swain,
Washes a paté down again
With furtive flagons, white and red.
Washes a paté down again
With furtive flagons, white and red.
Cassandre, with demure content,
Greets with a tear of sentiment
His nephew disinherited.
Greets with a tear of sentiment
His nephew disinherited.
That blackguard of a Harlequin
Pirouettes, and plots to win
His Columbine that flits and flies.
Pirouettes, and plots to win
His Columbine that flits and flies.
Columbine dreams, and starts to find
A sad heart sighing in the wind,
And in her heart a voice that sighs.
A sad heart sighing in the wind,
And in her heart a voice that sighs.
III. SUR L'HERBE
The Abbé wanders.—Marquis, now
Set straight your periwig, and speak!
—This Cyprus wine is heavenly, how
Much less, Camargo, than your cheek!
Set straight your periwig, and speak!
—This Cyprus wine is heavenly, how
Much less, Camargo, than your cheek!
—My goddess . . . —Do, mi, sol, la, si.
—Abbé, such treason who'll forgive you?
—May I die, ladies, if there be
A star in heaven I will not give you!
—Abbé, such treason who'll forgive you?
—May I die, ladies, if there be
A star in heaven I will not give you!
—I'd be my lady's lapdog; then . . .
—Shepherdess, kiss your shepherd soon,
Shepherd, come kiss . . . —Well, gentlemen?
—Do, mi, so. —Hey, good-night, good moon!
—Shepherdess, kiss your shepherd soon,
Shepherd, come kiss . . . —Well, gentlemen?
—Do, mi, so. —Hey, good-night, good moon!
IV. L'ALLÉE
As in the age of shepherd king and queen,
Painted and frail amid her nodding bows,
Under the sombre branches and between
The green and mossy garden-ways she goes,
With little mincing airs one keeps to pet
A darling and provoking perroquet.
Her long-trained robe is blue, the fan she holds
With fluent fingers girt with heavy rings,
So vaguely hints of vague erotic things
That her eye smiles, musing among its folds.
—Blonde too, a tiny nose, a rosy mouth,
Artful as that sly patch that makes more sly,
In her divine unconscious pride of youth,
The slightly simpering sparkle of the eye.
Painted and frail amid her nodding bows,
Under the sombre branches and between
The green and mossy garden-ways she goes,
With little mincing airs one keeps to pet
A darling and provoking perroquet.
Her long-trained robe is blue, the fan she holds
With fluent fingers girt with heavy rings,
So vaguely hints of vague erotic things
That her eye smiles, musing among its folds.
—Blonde too, a tiny nose, a rosy mouth,
Artful as that sly patch that makes more sly,
In her divine unconscious pride of youth,
The slightly simpering sparkle of the eye.
V. A LA PROMENADE
The sky so pale, and the trees, such frail things,
Seem as if smiling on our bright array
That flits so light and gay upon the way
With indolent airs and fluttering as of wings.
Seem as if smiling on our bright array
That flits so light and gay upon the way
With indolent airs and fluttering as of wings.
The fountain wrinkles under a faint wind,
And all the sifted sunlight falling through
The lime-trees of the shadowy avenue
Comes to us blue and shadowy-pale and thinned.
And all the sifted sunlight falling through
The lime-trees of the shadowy avenue
Comes to us blue and shadowy-pale and thinned.
Faultlessly fickle, and yet fond enough,
With fonds hearts not too tender to be free,
We wander whispering deliciously,
And every lover leads a lady-love,
With fonds hearts not too tender to be free,
We wander whispering deliciously,
And every lover leads a lady-love,
Whose imperceptible and roguish hand
Darts now and then a dainty tap, the lip
Revenges on an extreme finger-tip,
The tip of the left little finger, and,
Darts now and then a dainty tap, the lip
Revenges on an extreme finger-tip,
The tip of the left little finger, and,
The deed being so excessive and uncouth,
A duly freezing look deals punishment,
That in the instant of the act is blent
With a shy pity pouting in the mouth.
A duly freezing look deals punishment,
That in the instant of the act is blent
With a shy pity pouting in the mouth.
VI. DANS LA GROTTE
Stay, let me die, since I am true,
For my distress will not delay,
And the Hyrcanian tigress ravening for prey
Is as a little lamb to you.
For my distress will not delay,
And the Hyrcanian tigress ravening for prey
Is as a little lamb to you.
Yes, here within, cruel Clymène,
This steel which in how many wars
How many a Cyrus slew, or Scipio, now prepares
To end my life and end my pain.
This steel which in how many wars
How many a Cyrus slew, or Scipio, now prepares
To end my life and end my pain.
But nay, what need of steel have I
To haste my passage to the shades?
Did not Love pierce my heart, beyond all mortal aids,
With the first arrow of your eye?
To haste my passage to the shades?
Did not Love pierce my heart, beyond all mortal aids,
With the first arrow of your eye?
VII. LES INGENUS
High heels and long skirts intercepting them,
So that, according to the wind or way,
An ankle peeped and vanished as in play;
And well we loved the malice of the game.
So that, according to the wind or way,
An ankle peeped and vanished as in play;
And well we loved the malice of the game.
Sometimes an insect with its jealous sting
Some fair one's whiter neck disquieted,
From which the gleams of sudden whiteness shed
Met in our eyes a frolic welcoming.
Some fair one's whiter neck disquieted,
From which the gleams of sudden whiteness shed
Met in our eyes a frolic welcoming.
The stealthy autumn evening faded out,
And the fair creatures dreaming by our side
Words of such subtle savour to us sighed
That since that time our souls tremble and doubt.
And the fair creatures dreaming by our side
Words of such subtle savour to us sighed
That since that time our souls tremble and doubt.
VIII. CORTÈGE
A silver-vested monkey trips
And pirouettes before the face
Of one who twists a kerchief's lace
Between her well-gloved finger-tips.
And pirouettes before the face
Of one who twists a kerchief's lace
Between her well-gloved finger-tips.
A little negro, a red elf,
Carries her dropping train, and holds
At arm's length all the heavy folds,
Watching each fold displace itself.
Carries her dropping train, and holds
At arm's length all the heavy folds,
Watching each fold displace itself.
The monkey never lets his eyes
Wander from the fair woman's breast,
White wonder that to be possessed
Would call a god out of the skies.
Wander from the fair woman's breast,
White wonder that to be possessed
Would call a god out of the skies.
Sometimes the little negro seems
To lift his sumptuous burden up
Higher than need be, in the hope
Of seeing what all night he dreams.
To lift his sumptuous burden up
Higher than need be, in the hope
Of seeing what all night he dreams.
She goes by corridor and stair,
Still to the insolent appeals
Of her familiar animals
Indifferent or unaware.
Still to the insolent appeals
Of her familiar animals
Indifferent or unaware.
IX. LES COQUILLAGES
Each shell incrusted in the grot
Where we two loved each other well
An aspect of its own has got.
Where we two loved each other well
An aspect of its own has got.
The purple of a purple shell
Is our souls' colour when they make
Our burning heart's blood visible.
Is our souls' colour when they make
Our burning heart's blood visible.
This pallid shell affects to take
Thy languors, when thy love-tired eyes
Rebuke me for my mockery's sake.
Thy languors, when thy love-tired eyes
Rebuke me for my mockery's sake.
This counterfeits the harmonies
Of thy pink ear, and this might be
Thy plump short nape with rosy dyes.
Of thy pink ear, and this might be
Thy plump short nape with rosy dyes.
But one, among these, troubled me.
X. EN PATINANT
We were the victims, you and I,
Madame, of mutual self deceits;
And that which set our brains awry
May well have been the summer heats.
Madame, of mutual self deceits;
And that which set our brains awry
May well have been the summer heats.
And the spring too, if I recall,
Contributed to spoil our play,
And yet its share, I think, was small
In leading you and me astray.
Contributed to spoil our play,
And yet its share, I think, was small
In leading you and me astray.
For air in springtime is so fresh
That rose-buds Love has surely meant
To match the roses of the flesh
Have odours almost innocent;
That rose-buds Love has surely meant
To match the roses of the flesh
Have odours almost innocent;
And even the lilies that outpour
Their biting odours where the sun
Is new in heaven, do but the more
Enliven and enlighten one,
Their biting odours where the sun
Is new in heaven, do but the more
Enliven and enlighten one,
So stealthily the zephyr blows
A mocking breath that renders back
The heart's rest and the soul's repose
And the flower's aphrodisiac,
A mocking breath that renders back
The heart's rest and the soul's repose
And the flower's aphrodisiac,
And the five senses, peeping out,
Take up their station at the feast,
But, being by themselves, without
Troubling the reason in the least.
Take up their station at the feast,
But, being by themselves, without
Troubling the reason in the least.
That was the time of azure skies,
(Madame, do you remember it?)
And sonnets to my lady's eyes,
And cautious kisses not too sweet.
(Madame, do you remember it?)
And sonnets to my lady's eyes,
And cautious kisses not too sweet.
Free from all passion's idle pother,
Full of mere kindliness, how long,
How well we liked not loved each other,
Without one rapture or one wrong!
Full of mere kindliness, how long,
How well we liked not loved each other,
Without one rapture or one wrong!
Ah, happy hours! But summer came:
Farewell, fresh breezes of the spring!
A wind of pleasure like a flame
Leapt on our senses wondering.
Farewell, fresh breezes of the spring!
A wind of pleasure like a flame
Leapt on our senses wondering.
Strange flowers, fair crimson-hearted flowers
Poured their ripe odours over us,
And evil voices of the hours
Whispered above us in the boughs.
Poured their ripe odours over us,
And evil voices of the hours
Whispered above us in the boughs.
We yielded to it all, ah me!
What vertigo of fools held fast
Our senses in its ecstasy
Until the heat of summer passed?
What vertigo of fools held fast
Our senses in its ecstasy
Until the heat of summer passed?
There were vain tears and vainer laughter,
And hands indefinitely pressed,
Moist sadnesses, and swoonings after,
And what vague void within the breast?
And hands indefinitely pressed,
Moist sadnesses, and swoonings after,
And what vague void within the breast?
But autumn came to our relief,
Its light grown cold, its gusts grown rough,
Came to remind us, sharp and brief,
That we had wantoned long enough,
Its light grown cold, its gusts grown rough,
Came to remind us, sharp and brief,
That we had wantoned long enough,
And led us quickly to recover
The elegance demanded of
Every quite irreproachable lover
And every seemly lady-love.
The elegance demanded of
Every quite irreproachable lover
And every seemly lady-love.
Now it is winter, and, alas,
Our backers tremble for their stake;
Already other sledges pass
And leave us toiling in their wake.
Our backers tremble for their stake;
Already other sledges pass
And leave us toiling in their wake.
Put both your hands into your muff,
Sit back, now, steady! off we go.
Fanchon will tell us soon enough
Whatever news there is to know.
Sit back, now, steady! off we go.
Fanchon will tell us soon enough
Whatever news there is to know.
XI. FANTOCHES
Scaramouche waves a threatening hand
To Pulcinella, and they stand,
Two shadows, black against the moon.
To Pulcinella, and they stand,
Two shadows, black against the moon.
The old doctor of Bologna pries
For simples with impassive eyes,
And mutters o'er a magic rune.
For simples with impassive eyes,
And mutters o'er a magic rune.
The while his daughter, scarce half-dressed,
Glides slyly 'neath the trees, in quest
Of her bold pirate lover's sail;
Glides slyly 'neath the trees, in quest
Of her bold pirate lover's sail;
Her pirate from the Spanish main,
Whose passion thrills her in the pain
Of the loud languorous nightingale.
Whose passion thrills her in the pain
Of the loud languorous nightingale.
XII. CYTHÈRE
By favourable breezes fanned,
A trellised harbour is at hand
To shield us from the summer airs;
A trellised harbour is at hand
To shield us from the summer airs;
The scent of roses, fainting sweet,
Afloat upon the summer heat,
Blends with the perfume that she wears.
Afloat upon the summer heat,
Blends with the perfume that she wears.
True to the promise her eyes gave,
She ventures all, and her mouth rains
A dainty fever through my veins;
She ventures all, and her mouth rains
A dainty fever through my veins;
And, Love fulfilling all things, save
Hunger, we 'scape, with sweets and ices,
The folly of Love's sacrifices.
Hunger, we 'scape, with sweets and ices,
The folly of Love's sacrifices.
XIII. EN BATEAU
The shepherd's star with trembling glint
Drops in black water; at the hint
The pilot fumbles for his flint.
Drops in black water; at the hint
The pilot fumbles for his flint.
Now is the time or never, sirs.
No hand that wanders wisely errs:
I touch a hand, and is it hers?
No hand that wanders wisely errs:
I touch a hand, and is it hers?
The knightly Atys strikes the strings,
And to the faithless Chloris flings
A look that speaks of many things.
And to the faithless Chloris flings
A look that speaks of many things.
The abbé has absolved again
Eglé, the viscount all in vain
Has given his hasty heart the rein.
Eglé, the viscount all in vain
Has given his hasty heart the rein.
Meanwhile the moon is up and streams
Upon the skiff that flies and seems
To float upon a tide of dreams.
Upon the skiff that flies and seems
To float upon a tide of dreams.
XIV. LE FAUNE
An aged faun of old red clay
Laughs from the grassy bowling-green,
Foretelling doubtless some decay
Of mortal moments so serene
Laughs from the grassy bowling-green,
Foretelling doubtless some decay
Of mortal moments so serene
That lead us lightly on our way
(Love's piteous pilgrims have we been!)
To this last hour that runs away
Dancing to the tambourine.
(Love's piteous pilgrims have we been!)
To this last hour that runs away
Dancing to the tambourine.
XV. MANDOLINE
The singers of serenades
Whisper their faded vows
Unto fair listening maids
Under the singing boughs.
Whisper their faded vows
Unto fair listening maids
Under the singing boughs.
Tircis, Aminte, are there,
Clitandre has waited long,
And Damis for many a fair
Tyrant makes many a song.
Clitandre has waited long,
And Damis for many a fair
Tyrant makes many a song.
Their short vests, silken and bright,
Their long pale silken trains,
Their elegance of delight,
Twine soft blue silken chains.
Their long pale silken trains,
Their elegance of delight,
Twine soft blue silken chains.
And the mandolines and they,
Faintlier breathing, swoon
Into the rose and grey
Ecstasy of the moon.
Faintlier breathing, swoon
Into the rose and grey
Ecstasy of the moon.
XVI. A CLYMÈNE
Mystical strains unheard,
A song without a word,
Dearest, because thine eyes,
Pale as the skies,
A song without a word,
Dearest, because thine eyes,
Pale as the skies,
Because thy voice, remote
As the far clouds that float
Veiling for me the whole
Heaven of the soul,
As the far clouds that float
Veiling for me the whole
Heaven of the soul,
Because the stately scent
Of thy swan's whiteness, blent
With the white lily's bloom
Of thy perfume,
Of thy swan's whiteness, blent
With the white lily's bloom
Of thy perfume,
Ah! because thy dear love,
The music breathed above
By angels halo-crowned,
Odour and sound,
The music breathed above
By angels halo-crowned,
Odour and sound,
Hath, in my subtle heart,
With some mysterious art
Transposed thy harmony,
So let it be!
With some mysterious art
Transposed thy harmony,
So let it be!
XVII. LETTRE
Far from your sight removed by thankless cares
(The gods are witness when a lover swears)
I languish and I die, Madame, as still
My use is, which I punctually fulfil,
And go, through heavy-hearted woes conveyed,
Attended ever by your lovely shade,
By day in thought, by night in dreams of hell,
And day and night, Madame, adorable!
So that at length my dwindling body lost
In very soul, I too become a ghost,
I too, and in the lamentable stress
Of vain desires remembering happiness,
Remembered kisses, now, alas, unfelt,
My shadow shall into your shadow melt.
(The gods are witness when a lover swears)
I languish and I die, Madame, as still
My use is, which I punctually fulfil,
And go, through heavy-hearted woes conveyed,
Attended ever by your lovely shade,
By day in thought, by night in dreams of hell,
And day and night, Madame, adorable!
So that at length my dwindling body lost
In very soul, I too become a ghost,
I too, and in the lamentable stress
Of vain desires remembering happiness,
Remembered kisses, now, alas, unfelt,
My shadow shall into your shadow melt.
Meanwhile, dearest, your most obedient slave.
How does the sweet society behave,
Thy cat, thy dog, thy parrot? and is she
Still, as of old, the black-eyed Silvanie
(I had loved black eyes if thine had not been blue)
Who ogled me at moments, palsambleu!
Thy tender friend and thy sweet confindant?
One dream there is, Madame, long wont to haunt
This too impatient heart: to pour the earth
And all its treasures (of how little worth!)
Before your feet as tokens of a love
Equal to the most famous flames that move
The hearts of men to conquer all but death.
Cleopatra was less loved, yes, on my faith,
By Antony or Caesar than you are,
Madame, by me, who truly would by far
Out-do the deeds of Caesar for a smile,
O Cleopatra, queen of word and wile,
Or, for a kiss, take flight with Antony
Thy cat, thy dog, thy parrot? and is she
Still, as of old, the black-eyed Silvanie
(I had loved black eyes if thine had not been blue)
Who ogled me at moments, palsambleu!
Thy tender friend and thy sweet confindant?
One dream there is, Madame, long wont to haunt
This too impatient heart: to pour the earth
And all its treasures (of how little worth!)
Before your feet as tokens of a love
Equal to the most famous flames that move
The hearts of men to conquer all but death.
Cleopatra was less loved, yes, on my faith,
By Antony or Caesar than you are,
Madame, by me, who truly would by far
Out-do the deeds of Caesar for a smile,
O Cleopatra, queen of word and wile,
Or, for a kiss, take flight with Antony
With this, farewell, dear, and no more from me;
How can the time it takes to read it, quite
Be worth the trouble that it took to write?
How can the time it takes to read it, quite
Be worth the trouble that it took to write?
XVIII. LES INDOLENTS
Bah! spite of Fate, that says us nay,
Suppose we die together, eh?
—A rare conclusion you discover
Suppose we die together, eh?
—A rare conclusion you discover
—What's rare is good. Let us die so,
Like lovers in Boccaccio.
—Ha! ha! ha! you fantastic lover!
Like lovers in Boccaccio.
—Ha! ha! ha! you fantastic lover!
—Nay, not fantastic. If you will,
Fond, surely irreproachable.
Suppose, then, that we die together?
Fond, surely irreproachable.
Suppose, then, that we die together?
—Good sir, your jests are fitlier told
Than when you speak of love or gold.
Why speak at all, in this glad weather?
Than when you speak of love or gold.
Why speak at all, in this glad weather?
Whereat, behold them once again,
Tircis beside his Dorimème,
Not far from two blithe rustic rovers,
Tircis beside his Dorimème,
Not far from two blithe rustic rovers,
For some caprice of idle breath
Deferring a delicious death.
Ha! ha! ha! what fantastic lovers!
Deferring a delicious death.
Ha! ha! ha! what fantastic lovers!
XIX. COLOMBINE
The foolish Leander,
Gape-covered Cassander,
And which
Is Pierrot? 'tis he
With the hop of a flea
Leaps the ditch;
Gape-covered Cassander,
And which
Is Pierrot? 'tis he
With the hop of a flea
Leaps the ditch;
And Harlequin who
Rehearses anew
His sly task,
With his dress that's a wonder,
And eyes shining under
His mask;
Rehearses anew
His sly task,
With his dress that's a wonder,
And eyes shining under
His mask;
Mi, sol, mi, fa, do!
How gaily they go,
And they sing
And they laugh and they twirl
Round the feet of a girl
Like the Spring,
How gaily they go,
And they sing
And they laugh and they twirl
Round the feet of a girl
Like the Spring,
Whose eyes are as green
As a cat's are, and keen
As its claws,
And her eyes without frown
Bid all new-comers:Down
With your paws!
As a cat's are, and keen
As its claws,
And her eyes without frown
Bid all new-comers:Down
With your paws!
On they go with the force
Of the stars in their course,
And the speed:
O tell me toward what
Disaster unthought,
Without heed
Of the stars in their course,
And the speed:
O tell me toward what
Disaster unthought,
Without heed
The implacable fair,
A rose in her hair,
Holding up
Her skirts as she runs
Leads this dance of the dunce
And the dupe?
A rose in her hair,
Holding up
Her skirts as she runs
Leads this dance of the dunce
And the dupe?
XX. L'AMOUR PAR TERRE
The other night a sudden wind laid low
The Love, shooting an arrow at a mark,
In the mysterious corner of the park,
Whose smile disquieted us long ago.
The Love, shooting an arrow at a mark,
In the mysterious corner of the park,
Whose smile disquieted us long ago.
The wind has overthrown him, and above
His scattered dust, how sad it is to spell
The artist's name still faintly visible
Upon the pedestal without its Love,
His scattered dust, how sad it is to spell
The artist's name still faintly visible
Upon the pedestal without its Love,
How sad it is to see the pedestal
Still standing! as in dream I seem to hear
Prophetic voices whisper in my ear
The lonely and despairing end of all.
Still standing! as in dream I seem to hear
Prophetic voices whisper in my ear
The lonely and despairing end of all.
How sad it is! Why, even you have found
A tear for it, although your frivolous eye
Laughs at the gold and purple butterfly
Poised on the piteous litter on the ground.
A tear for it, although your frivolous eye
Laughs at the gold and purple butterfly
Poised on the piteous litter on the ground.
XXI. EN SOURDINE
Calm where twilight leaves have stilled
With their shadow light and sound,
Let our silent love be filled
With a silence as profound.
With their shadow light and sound,
Let our silent love be filled
With a silence as profound.
Let our ravished senses blend
Heart and spirit, thine and mine,
With vague langours that descend
From the branches of the pine.
Heart and spirit, thine and mine,
With vague langours that descend
From the branches of the pine.
Close thine eyes against the day,
Fold thine arms across thy breast,
And for ever turn away
All desire of all but rest.
Fold thine arms across thy breast,
And for ever turn away
All desire of all but rest.
Let the lulling breaths that pass
In soft wrinkles at thy feet,
Tossing all the tawny grass,
This and only this repeat.
In soft wrinkles at thy feet,
Tossing all the tawny grass,
This and only this repeat.
And when solemn evening
Dims the forest's dusky air,
Then the nightingale shall sing
The delight of our despair.
Dims the forest's dusky air,
Then the nightingale shall sing
The delight of our despair.
XXII. COLLOQUE SENTIMENTAL
In the old park, solitary and vast,
Over the frozen ground two forms once passed.
Over the frozen ground two forms once passed.
Their lips were languid and their eyes were dead,
And hardly could be heard the words they said.
And hardly could be heard the words they said.
In the old park, solitary and vast,
Two ghosts once met to summon up the past.
Two ghosts once met to summon up the past.
—Do you remember our old ecstasy?
—Why would you bring it back again to me?
—Why would you bring it back again to me?
—Do you still dream as you dreamed long ago?
Does your heart beat to my heart's beating?—No.
Does your heart beat to my heart's beating?—No.
—Ah, those old days, what joys have those days seen
When your lips met my lips!—It may have been.
When your lips met my lips!—It may have been.
—How blue the sky was, and our hope how light!
—Hope has flown helpless back into the night.
—Hope has flown helpless back into the night.
They walked through weeds withered and grasses dead,
And only the night heard the words they said.
And only the night heard the words they said.
From Poèmes Saturniens
I. SOLEILS COUCHANTS
Pale dawn delicately
Over earth has spun
The sad melancholy
Of the setting sun.
Sad melancholy
Brings oblivion
In sad songs to me
With the setting sun.
And the strangest dreams,
Dreams like suns that set
On the banks of the streams,
Ghost and glory met,
To my sense it seems,
Pass, and without let,
Like great suns that set
On the banks of streams.
Over earth has spun
The sad melancholy
Of the setting sun.
Sad melancholy
Brings oblivion
In sad songs to me
With the setting sun.
And the strangest dreams,
Dreams like suns that set
On the banks of the streams,
Ghost and glory met,
To my sense it seems,
Pass, and without let,
Like great suns that set
On the banks of streams.
II. CHANSON D'AUTOMNE
When a sighing begins
In the violins
Of the autumn-song,
My heart is drowned
In the slow sound
Languorous and long.
In the violins
Of the autumn-song,
My heart is drowned
In the slow sound
Languorous and long.
Pale as with pain,
Breath fails me when
The hour tolls deep.
My thoughts recover
The days that are over,
And I weep.
Breath fails me when
The hour tolls deep.
My thoughts recover
The days that are over,
And I weep.
And I go
Where the winds know,
Broken and brief,
To and fro,
As the winds blow
A dead leaf.
Where the winds know,
Broken and brief,
To and fro,
As the winds blow
A dead leaf.
III. FEMME ET CHATTE
They were at play, she and her cat,
And it was marvellous to mark
The white paw and the white hand pat
Each other in the deepening dark.
And it was marvellous to mark
The white paw and the white hand pat
Each other in the deepening dark.
The stealthy little lady hid
Under her mittens' silken sheath
Her deadly agate nails that thrid
The silk-like dagger-points of death.
Under her mittens' silken sheath
Her deadly agate nails that thrid
The silk-like dagger-points of death.
The cat purred primly and drew in
Her claws that were of steel filed thin:
The devil was in it all the same.
Her claws that were of steel filed thin:
The devil was in it all the same.
And in the boudoir, while a shout
Of laughter in the air rang out,
Four sparks of phosphor shone like flame.
Of laughter in the air rang out,
Four sparks of phosphor shone like flame.
From La Bonne Chanson
I
The white moon sits
And seems to brood
Where a swift voice flits
From each branch in the wood
That the tree-tops cover. . . .
And seems to brood
Where a swift voice flits
From each branch in the wood
That the tree-tops cover. . . .
O lover, my lover!
The pool in the meadows
Like a looking-glass
Casts back the shadows
That over it pass
Of the willow-bower. . . .
Like a looking-glass
Casts back the shadows
That over it pass
Of the willow-bower. . . .
Let us dream: 'tis the hour. . . .
A tender and vast
Lull of content
Like a cloud is cast
From the firmament
Where one planet is bright. . . .
Lull of content
Like a cloud is cast
From the firmament
Where one planet is bright. . . .
'Tis the hour of delight.
II
The fireside, the lamp's little narrow light;
The dream with head on hand, and the delight
Of eyes that lose themselves in loving looks;
The hour of steaming tea and of shut books;
The solace to know evening almost gone;
The dainty weariness of waiting on
The nuptial shadow and night's softest bliss;
Ah, it is this that without respite, this
That without stay, my tender fancy seeks,
Mad with the months and furious with the weeks.
The dream with head on hand, and the delight
Of eyes that lose themselves in loving looks;
The hour of steaming tea and of shut books;
The solace to know evening almost gone;
The dainty weariness of waiting on
The nuptial shadow and night's softest bliss;
Ah, it is this that without respite, this
That without stay, my tender fancy seeks,
Mad with the months and furious with the weeks.
From Romances sans Paroles
I
'Tis the ecstasy of repose,
'Tis love when tired lids close,
'Tis the wood's long shuddering
In the embrace of the wind,
'Tis, where grey boughs are thinned,
Little voices that sing.
'Tis love when tired lids close,
'Tis the wood's long shuddering
In the embrace of the wind,
'Tis, where grey boughs are thinned,
Little voices that sing.
O fresh and frail is the sound
That twitters above, around,
Like the sweet tiny sigh
That lies in the shaken grass;
Or the sound when waters pass
And the pebbles shrink and cry.
That twitters above, around,
Like the sweet tiny sigh
That lies in the shaken grass;
Or the sound when waters pass
And the pebbles shrink and cry.
What soul is this that complains
Over the sleeping plains,
And what is it that it saith?
Is it mine, is it thine,
This lowly hymn I divine
In the warm night, low as a breath?
Over the sleeping plains,
And what is it that it saith?
Is it mine, is it thine,
This lowly hymn I divine
In the warm night, low as a breath?
II
I divine, through the veil of a murmuring,
The subtle contour of voices gone,
And I see, in the glimmering lights that sing,
The promise, pale love, of a future dawn.
The subtle contour of voices gone,
And I see, in the glimmering lights that sing,
The promise, pale love, of a future dawn.
And my soul and my heart in trouble
What are they but an eye that sees,
As through a mist an eye sees double,
Airs forgotten of songs like these?
What are they but an eye that sees,
As through a mist an eye sees double,
Airs forgotten of songs like these?
O to die of no other dying,
Love, than this that computes the showers
Of old hours and of new hours flying:
O to die of the swing of the hours!
Love, than this that computes the showers
Of old hours and of new hours flying:
O to die of the swing of the hours!
III
Tears in my heart that weeps,
Like the rain upon the town.
What drowsy langour steeps
In tears my heart that weeps?
Like the rain upon the town.
What drowsy langour steeps
In tears my heart that weeps?
O sweet sound of the rain
On earth and on the roofs!
For a heart's weary pain
O the song of the rain!
On earth and on the roofs!
For a heart's weary pain
O the song of the rain!
Vain tears, vain tears, my heart!
What, none hath done thee wrong?
Tears without reason start
From my disheartened heart.
What, none hath done thee wrong?
Tears without reason start
From my disheartened heart.
This is the weariest woe,
O heart, of love and hate
Too weary, not to know
Why thou hast all this woe.
O heart, of love and hate
Too weary, not to know
Why thou hast all this woe.
IV
A frail hand in the rose-grey evening
Kisses the shining keys that hardly stir,
While with the light, small flutter of a wing,
And old song, like an old tired wanderer,
Goes very softly, as if trembling,
About the room long redolent of Her.
Kisses the shining keys that hardly stir,
While with the light, small flutter of a wing,
And old song, like an old tired wanderer,
Goes very softly, as if trembling,
About the room long redolent of Her.
What lullaby is this that comes again
To dandle my poor being with its breath?
What wouldst thou have of me, gay laughing strain?
What hadst thou, desultory faint refrain
That now into the garden to thy death
Floatest through the half-opened window-pane?
To dandle my poor being with its breath?
What wouldst thou have of me, gay laughing strain?
What hadst thou, desultory faint refrain
That now into the garden to thy death
Floatest through the half-opened window-pane?
V
O sad, sad was my soul, alas!
For a woman, a woman's sake it was.
For a woman, a woman's sake it was.
I have had no comfort since that day,
Although my heart went its way,
Although my heart went its way,
Although my heart and my soul went
From the woman into banishment.
From the woman into banishment.
I have had no comfort since that day,
Although my heart went its way.
Although my heart went its way.
And my heart, being sore in me,
Said to my soul: How can this be,
Said to my soul: How can this be,
How can this be or have been thus,
This proud, sad banishment of us?
This proud, sad banishment of us?
My soul said to my heart: Do I
Know what snare we are tangled by,
Know what snare we are tangled by,
Seeing that, banished, we know not whether
We are divided or together?
We are divided or together?
VI
Wearily the plain's
Endless length expands;
The snow shines like grains
Of the shifting sands.
Endless length expands;
The snow shines like grains
Of the shifting sands.
Light of day is none,
Brazen is the sky;
Overhead the moon
Seems to live and die.
Brazen is the sky;
Overhead the moon
Seems to live and die.
Where the woods are seen,
Grey the oak-trees lift
Through the vaporous screen
Like the clouds that drift.
Grey the oak-trees lift
Through the vaporous screen
Like the clouds that drift.
Light of day is none,
Brazen is the sky;
Overhead the moon
Seems to live and die.
Brazen is the sky;
Overhead the moon
Seems to live and die.
Broken-winded crow,
And you, lean wolves, when
The sharp north-winds blow,
What do you do then?
And you, lean wolves, when
The sharp north-winds blow,
What do you do then?
Wearily the plain's
Endless length expands;
The snow shines like grains
Of the shifting sands.
Endless length expands;
The snow shines like grains
Of the shifting sands.
VII
There's a flight of green and red
In the hurry of hills and rails,
Through the shadowy twilight shed
By the lamps as daylight pales.
In the hurry of hills and rails,
Through the shadowy twilight shed
By the lamps as daylight pales.
Dim gold light flushes to blood
In humble hollows far down;
Birds sing low from a wood
Of barren trees without crown.
In humble hollows far down;
Birds sing low from a wood
Of barren trees without crown.
Scarcely more to be felt
Than that autumn is gone;
Languors, lulled in me, melt
In the still air's monotone.
Than that autumn is gone;
Languors, lulled in me, melt
In the still air's monotone.
VIII. SPLEEN
The roses were all red,
The ivy was all black:
Dear, if you turn your head,
All my despairs come back.
The ivy was all black:
Dear, if you turn your head,
All my despairs come back.
The sky was too blue, too kind,
The sea too green, and the air
Too calm: and I know in my mind
I shall wake and not find you there.
The sea too green, and the air
Too calm: and I know in my mind
I shall wake and not find you there.
I am tired of the box-tree's shine
And the holly's, that never will pass,
And the plain's unending line,
And of all but you, alas!
And the holly's, that never will pass,
And the plain's unending line,
And of all but you, alas!
IX. STREETS
Dance the jig!
I loved best her pretty eyes
Clearer than stars in any skies,
I loved her eyes for their dear lies.
Clearer than stars in any skies,
I loved her eyes for their dear lies.
Dance the jig!
And ah! the ways, the ways she had
Of driving a poor lover mad:
It made a man's heart sad and glad.
Of driving a poor lover mad:
It made a man's heart sad and glad.
Dance the jig!
But now I find the old kisses shed
From her flower-mouth a rarer red
Now that her heart to mine is dead.
From her flower-mouth a rarer red
Now that her heart to mine is dead.
Dance the jig!
And I recall, now I recall
Old days and hours, and ever shall,
And that is best, and best of all.
Old days and hours, and ever shall,
And that is best, and best of all.
Dance the jig!
From Jadis et Naguère
I. ART POÉTIQUE
Music first and foremost of all!
Choose your measure of odd not even,
Let it melt in the air of heaven,
Pose not, poise not, but rise and fall.
Choose your measure of odd not even,
Let it melt in the air of heaven,
Pose not, poise not, but rise and fall.
Choose your words, but think not whether
Each to other of old belong:
What so dear as the dim grey song
Where clear and vague are joined together?
Each to other of old belong:
What so dear as the dim grey song
Where clear and vague are joined together?
'Tis veils of beauty for beautiful eyes,
'Tis the trembling light of the naked noon,
'Tis a medley of blue and gold, the moon
And stars in the cool of autumn skies.
'Tis the trembling light of the naked noon,
'Tis a medley of blue and gold, the moon
And stars in the cool of autumn skies.
Let every shape of its shade be born;
Colour, away! come to me, shade!
Only of shade can the marriage be made
Of dream with dream and of flute with horn.
Colour, away! come to me, shade!
Only of shade can the marriage be made
Of dream with dream and of flute with horn.
Shun the Point, lest death with it come,
Unholy laughter and cruel wit
(For the eyes of the angels weep at it)
And all the garbage of scullery-scum.
Unholy laughter and cruel wit
(For the eyes of the angels weep at it)
And all the garbage of scullery-scum.
Take Eloquence, and wring the neck of him!
You had better, by force, from time to time,
Put a little sense in the head of Rhyme:
If you watch him not, you will be at the beck of him.
You had better, by force, from time to time,
Put a little sense in the head of Rhyme:
If you watch him not, you will be at the beck of him.
O, who shall tell us the wrongs of Rhyme?
What witless savage or what deaf boy
Has made for us this twopenny toy
Whose bells ring hollow and out of time?
What witless savage or what deaf boy
Has made for us this twopenny toy
Whose bells ring hollow and out of time?
Music always and music still!
Let your verse be the wandering thing
That flutters in flight from a soul on the wing
Towards other skies at a new whim's will.
Let your verse be the wandering thing
That flutters in flight from a soul on the wing
Towards other skies at a new whim's will.
Let your verse be the luck of the lure
Afloat on the winds that at morning hint
Of the odours of thyme and the savour of mint . . .
And all the rest is literature.
Afloat on the winds that at morning hint
Of the odours of thyme and the savour of mint . . .
And all the rest is literature.
II. MEZZETIN CHANTANT
Go, and with never a care
But the care to keep happiness!
Crumple a silken dress
And snatch a song in the air.
But the care to keep happiness!
Crumple a silken dress
And snatch a song in the air.
Hear the moral of all the wise
In a world where happy folly
Is wiser than melancholy:
Forget the hour as it flies!
In a world where happy folly
Is wiser than melancholy:
Forget the hour as it flies!
The one thing needful on earth, it
Is not to be whimpering.
Is life after all a thing
Real enough to be worth it?
Is not to be whimpering.
Is life after all a thing
Real enough to be worth it?
From Sagesse
I
The little hands that once were mine,
The hands I loved, the lovely hands,
After the roadways and the strands,
And realms and kingdoms once divine,
The hands I loved, the lovely hands,
After the roadways and the strands,
And realms and kingdoms once divine,
And mortal loss of all that seems
Lost with the old sad pagan things,
Royal as in the days of kings
The dear hands open to me dreams.
Lost with the old sad pagan things,
Royal as in the days of kings
The dear hands open to me dreams.
Hands of dream, hands of holy flame
Upon my soul in blessing laid,
What is it that these hands have said
That my soul hears and swoons to them?
Upon my soul in blessing laid,
What is it that these hands have said
That my soul hears and swoons to them?
Is it a phantom, this pure sight
Of mother's love made tenderer?
Of spirit with spirit linked to share
The mutual kinship of delight?
Of mother's love made tenderer?
Of spirit with spirit linked to share
The mutual kinship of delight?
Good sorrow, dear remorse, and ye,
Blest dreams, O hands ordained of heaven
To tell me if I am forgiven,
Make but the sign that pardons me!
Blest dreams, O hands ordained of heaven
To tell me if I am forgiven,
Make but the sign that pardons me!
II
O my God, thou hast wounded me with love,
Behold the wound, that is still vibrating,
O my God, thou hast wounded me with love.
Behold the wound, that is still vibrating,
O my God, thou hast wounded me with love.
O my God, thy fear hath fallen upon me,
Behold the burn is there, and it throbs aloud,
O my God, thy fear hath fallen upon me.
Behold the burn is there, and it throbs aloud,
O my God, thy fear hath fallen upon me.
O my God, I have known that all is vile
And that thy glory hath stationed itself in me,
O my God, I have known that all is vile.
And that thy glory hath stationed itself in me,
O my God, I have known that all is vile.
Drown my soul in floods, floods of thy wine,
Mingle my life with the body of thy bread,
Drown my soul in floods, floods of thy wine.
Mingle my life with the body of thy bread,
Drown my soul in floods, floods of thy wine.
Take my blood, that I have not poured out,
Take my flesh, unworthy of suffering,
Take my blood, that I have not poured out.
Take my flesh, unworthy of suffering,
Take my blood, that I have not poured out.
Take my brow, that has only learned to blush,
To be the footstool of thine adorable feet,
Take my brow, that has only learned to blush.
To be the footstool of thine adorable feet,
Take my brow, that has only learned to blush.
Take my hands, because they have laboured not
For coals of fire and for rare frankincense,
Take my hands, because they have laboured not.
For coals of fire and for rare frankincense,
Take my hands, because they have laboured not.
Take my heart, that has beaten for vain things,
To throb under the thorns of Calvary,
Take my heart, that has beaten for vain things.
To throb under the thorns of Calvary,
Take my heart, that has beaten for vain things.
Take my feet, frivolous travellers,
That they may run to the crying of thy grace,
Take my feet, frivolous travellers.
That they may run to the crying of thy grace,
Take my feet, frivolous travellers.
Take my voice, a harsh and a lying noise,
For the reproaches of thy Penitence,
Take my voice, a harsh and a lying noise.
For the reproaches of thy Penitence,
Take my voice, a harsh and a lying noise.
Take mine eyes, luminaries of deceit,
That they may be extinguished in the tears of prayer,
Take mine eyes, luminaries of deceit.
That they may be extinguished in the tears of prayer,
Take mine eyes, luminaries of deceit.
Alas, thou, God of pardon and promises,
What is the pit of mine ingratitude,
Alas, thou, God of pardon and promises.
What is the pit of mine ingratitude,
Alas, thou, God of pardon and promises.
God of terror and God of holiness,
Alas, my sinfulness is a black abyss,
God of terror and God of holiness.
Alas, my sinfulness is a black abyss,
God of terror and God of holiness.
Thou, God of peace, of joy and delight,
All my tears, all my ignorances,
Thou, God of peace, of joy and delight.
All my tears, all my ignorances,
Thou, God of peace, of joy and delight.
Thou, O God, knowest all this, all this
How poor I am, poorer than any man,
Thou, O God, knowest all this, all this.
How poor I am, poorer than any man,
Thou, O God, knowest all this, all this.
And what I have, my God, I give to thee.
III
Slumber dark and deep
Falls across my life;
I will put to sleep
Hope, desire, and strife.
Falls across my life;
I will put to sleep
Hope, desire, and strife.
All things pass away,
Good and evil seem
To my soul to-day
Nothing but a dream;
Good and evil seem
To my soul to-day
Nothing but a dream;
I a cradle laid
In a hollow cave,
By a great hand swayed:
Silence, like the grave.
In a hollow cave,
By a great hand swayed:
Silence, like the grave.
IV
The body's sadness and the langour thereof
Melt and bow me with pity till I could weep,
Ah! when the dark hours break it down in sleep
And the bedclothes score the skin and the hot hands move;
Alert for a little with the fever of day,
Damp still with the heavy sweat of the night that has thinned,
Like a bird that trembles on a roof in the wind:
And the feet that are sorrowful because of the way,
Melt and bow me with pity till I could weep,
Ah! when the dark hours break it down in sleep
And the bedclothes score the skin and the hot hands move;
Alert for a little with the fever of day,
Damp still with the heavy sweat of the night that has thinned,
Like a bird that trembles on a roof in the wind:
And the feet that are sorrowful because of the way,
And the breast that a hand has scarred with a double blow,
And the mouth that as an open wound is red,
And the flesh that shivers and is a painted show,
And the eyes, poor eyes so lovely with tears unshed
For the sorrow of seeing this also over and done:
Sad body, how weak and how punished under the sun!
And the mouth that as an open wound is red,
And the flesh that shivers and is a painted show,
And the eyes, poor eyes so lovely with tears unshed
For the sorrow of seeing this also over and done:
Sad body, how weak and how punished under the sun!
V
Fairer is the sea
Than the minister high,
Faithful nurse is she,
And last lullaby,
And the Virgin prays
Over the sea's ways.
Than the minister high,
Faithful nurse is she,
And last lullaby,
And the Virgin prays
Over the sea's ways.
Gifts of grief and guerdons
From her bounty come,
And I hear her pardons
Chide her angers home;
Nothing in her is
Unforgivingness.
From her bounty come,
And I hear her pardons
Chide her angers home;
Nothing in her is
Unforgivingness.
She is piteous,
She the perilous!
Friendly things to us
The wave sings to us:
You whose hope is past,
Here is peace at last.
She the perilous!
Friendly things to us
The wave sings to us:
You whose hope is past,
Here is peace at last.
And beneath the skies,
Brighter-hued than they,
She has azure dyes,
Rose and green and grey.
Better is the sea
Than all fair things or we.
Brighter-hued than they,
She has azure dyes,
Rose and green and grey.
Better is the sea
Than all fair things or we.
From Parallèlement:
IMPRESSION FAUSSE
Little lady mouse,
Black upon the grey of light;
Little lady mouse,
Grey upon the night.
Black upon the grey of light;
Little lady mouse,
Grey upon the night.
Now they ring the bell,
All good prisoners slumber deep;
Now they ring the bell,
Nothing now but sleep.
All good prisoners slumber deep;
Now they ring the bell,
Nothing now but sleep.
Only pleasant dreams,
Love's enough for thinking of;
Only pleasant dreams,
Long live love!
Love's enough for thinking of;
Only pleasant dreams,
Long live love!
Moonlight over all,
Someone snoring heavily;
Moonlight over all
In reality.
Someone snoring heavily;
Moonlight over all
In reality.
Now there comes a cloud,
It is dark as midnight here;
Now there comes a cloud,
Dawn begins to peer.
It is dark as midnight here;
Now there comes a cloud,
Dawn begins to peer.
Little lady mouse,
Rosy in a ray of blue,
Little lady mouse:
Up now, all of you!
Rosy in a ray of blue,
Little lady mouse:
Up now, all of you!
From Chansons pour Elle
You believe that there may be
Luck in strangers in the tea:
I believe only in your eyes.
Luck in strangers in the tea:
I believe only in your eyes.
You believe in fairy-tales,
Days one wins and days one fails:
I believe only in your lies.
Days one wins and days one fails:
I believe only in your lies.
You believe in heavenly powers,
In some saint to whom one prays
Or in some Ave that one says.
In some saint to whom one prays
Or in some Ave that one says.
I believe only in the hours,
Coloured with the rosy lights
You rain for me on sleepless nights.
Coloured with the rosy lights
You rain for me on sleepless nights.
And so firmly I receive
These for truth, that I believe
That only for your sake I live.
These for truth, that I believe
That only for your sake I live.
From Epigrammes
When we go together, if I may see her again,
Into the dark wood and the rain;
Into the dark wood and the rain;
When we are drunken with air and the sun's delight
At the brink of the river of light;
At the brink of the river of light;
When we are homeless at last, for a moment's space
Without city or abiding-place;
Without city or abiding-place;
And if the slow good-will of the world still seem
To cradle us in a dream;
To cradle us in a dream;
Then, let us sleep the last sleep with no leave-taking,
And God will see to the waking.
And God will see to the waking.