See, the elder and younger move
At the garden's edge, and beside them
White carnations with long frail stems,
Stirred by the wind, in a marble urn,
Lean, watching them, live and motionless,
And, trembling with shade there, seem to be
Butterflies caught in flight, frozen ecstasy.
At the garden's edge, and beside them
White carnations with long frail stems,
Stirred by the wind, in a marble urn,
Lean, watching them, live and motionless,
And, trembling with shade there, seem to be
Butterflies caught in flight, frozen ecstasy.
19th Century French Poetry
.
.
The moon was serene and played on the sea.
Since I have touched my lips. . .
Since I have touched my lips to your brimming cup,
Since I have bowed my pale brow in your hands,
Since I have sometime breathed the sweet breath
Of your soul, a perfume buried in shadow lands;
Since it was granted to me to hear you utter
Words in which the mysterious heart sighs,
Since I have seen smiles, since I have seen tears
Your mouth on my mouth, your eyes on my eyes;
Since I have seen over my enraptured head
A light from your star shine, ah, ever veiled!
Since I have seen falling to my life's flood
The leaf of a rose snatched from out your days,
Now at last I can say to the fleeting years:
- Pass by! Pass by, forever! No more age!
Away with you and all your withered flowers,
I have a flower in my soul no one can take!
Your wings, brushing it, spill never a drop
From the glass I fill, from which my thirst I quench.
My soul possesses more fire than you have ashes!
My heart more love than your forgetfulness!
My Two Daughters
In pleasant evening's fresh-clear darkness,
One seems a swan, the other a dove,
Both joyous, both lovely, O sweetness!
See, the elder and younger move
At the garden's edge, and beside them
White carnations with long frail stems,
Stirred by the wind, in a marble urn,
Lean, watching them, live and motionless,
And, trembling with shade there, seem to be
Butterflies caught in flight, frozen ecstasy.
Her feet were bare. . .
Her feet were bare she'd undone her hair,
Sitting, fair, by the bowing reeds;
I who went by, thought a fairy was there,
And I said: Will you walk in the meads?
She looked at me with a haughty look
That beauty retains when we conquer,
And I said: Will you? It's the month of love,
Will a walk in the woods be your answer?
She dried her feet on the riverside grass;
She looked at me once again,
And the playful beauty then took thought.
Oh the birds that sang deep in the day!
The water caressed the shore so gently!
That joyous sweet girl, fearful and wild,
Among the green rushes she came to me,
Her hair in her eyes, and through it a smile.
Tomorrow, at Dawn
Tomorrow, at dawn, when the fields whiten
I'll set out. I know you are waiting for me.
I'll travel the forest; I'll travel the mountain,
I can't stay away any longer, you see.
I'll stride out with only my thought in sight,
Seeing nothing beyond, without hearing a sound,
Alone and unknown, back bowed, folded hands,
Sad, since daylight to me will seem night.
I'll not witness evening's golden cascade,
Nor the distant sails sinking down to Harfleur,
And when I arrive, I shall place on your grave,
A sprig of green holly, and heather in flower.
The moon was serene and played on the sea.
Since I have touched my lips. . .
Since I have touched my lips to your brimming cup,
Since I have bowed my pale brow in your hands,
Since I have sometime breathed the sweet breath
Of your soul, a perfume buried in shadow lands;
Since it was granted to me to hear you utter
Words in which the mysterious heart sighs,
Since I have seen smiles, since I have seen tears
Your mouth on my mouth, your eyes on my eyes;
Since I have seen over my enraptured head
A light from your star shine, ah, ever veiled!
Since I have seen falling to my life's flood
The leaf of a rose snatched from out your days,
Now at last I can say to the fleeting years:
- Pass by! Pass by, forever! No more age!
Away with you and all your withered flowers,
I have a flower in my soul no one can take!
Your wings, brushing it, spill never a drop
From the glass I fill, from which my thirst I quench.
My soul possesses more fire than you have ashes!
My heart more love than your forgetfulness!
My Two Daughters
In pleasant evening's fresh-clear darkness,
One seems a swan, the other a dove,
Both joyous, both lovely, O sweetness!
See, the elder and younger move
At the garden's edge, and beside them
White carnations with long frail stems,
Stirred by the wind, in a marble urn,
Lean, watching them, live and motionless,
And, trembling with shade there, seem to be
Butterflies caught in flight, frozen ecstasy.
Her feet were bare. . .
Her feet were bare she'd undone her hair,
Sitting, fair, by the bowing reeds;
I who went by, thought a fairy was there,
And I said: Will you walk in the meads?
She looked at me with a haughty look
That beauty retains when we conquer,
And I said: Will you? It's the month of love,
Will a walk in the woods be your answer?
She dried her feet on the riverside grass;
She looked at me once again,
And the playful beauty then took thought.
Oh the birds that sang deep in the day!
The water caressed the shore so gently!
That joyous sweet girl, fearful and wild,
Among the green rushes she came to me,
Her hair in her eyes, and through it a smile.
Tomorrow, at Dawn
Tomorrow, at dawn, when the fields whiten
I'll set out. I know you are waiting for me.
I'll travel the forest; I'll travel the mountain,
I can't stay away any longer, you see.
I'll stride out with only my thought in sight,
Seeing nothing beyond, without hearing a sound,
Alone and unknown, back bowed, folded hands,
Sad, since daylight to me will seem night.
I'll not witness evening's golden cascade,
Nor the distant sails sinking down to Harfleur,
And when I arrive, I shall place on your grave,
A sprig of green holly, and heather in flower.
