Now, down here, in this unknown angle,
A
glimmering
furrow of melancholy ruby,
A sweetly twinkling sun-spark trembles:
A patriarchal guide leads his family.
19th Century French Poetry
- Oh!
I've schemes beyond reason!
Who'll tame my heart!
Sweet cure.
.
.
I'm true by nature!
Gentle as a nun!
Come!
I'm no Don Juan,
Would it be such a wild adventure
Under the sun?
Midst all this verdure.
.
.
Apothesosis
In every sense, forever, Silence swarms
With knots of golden stars mixed swirling.
They speak of gardens sanded with diamonds,
But each one's solitary, sadly, sparkling.
Now, down here, in this unknown angle,
A
glimmering
furrow of melancholy ruby,
A sweetly twinkling sun-spark trembles:
A patriarchal guide leads his family.
His family: a mass of dense coloured globes.
And on one, that's Earth, a yellow dot, Paris,
Where hangs, a light, a poor ageing fool:
In the frail universal order, unique miracle.
He's the mirror of a day, and knows it.
He dreams a while then makes a sonnet.
Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918)
Guillaume Apollinaire
'Guillaume Apollinaire'
Guillaume Apollinaire - Wybor Poezji", Zak?
ad Narodowy im.
Ossoli?
skich, Biblioteka Narodowa, 1975, Wikimedia Commons
Annie
On the coast of Texas
Twixt Mobile and Galveston there was a
Great garden full of roses
That also contained a villa
Like a giant rose.
A woman often walked
In the garden all alone
And when I passed along the linden-bordered road
We almost talked.
As she was a Mennonite
Her rose-trees and her clothes lacked buttons
Two were missing from my coat-front
Both of us followed almost the same rite.
