The water
caressed
the shore so gently!
19th Century French Poetry
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.
Ave, Dea; moriturus te salutat
(Hail, Goddess; he who is about to die salutes you)
To Judith Gautier
Death and beauty are two things profound,
So of dark and azure, that one might say that
They were two sisters terrible and fecund
Possessing the one enigma, the one secret.
O women, voices, gazes, black hair, blonde tresses,
Blaze out, I die! Own to light, love, attraction,
O pearls the sea mingles with its great masses,
O gleaming birds of the forest's sombre ocean!
Judith, our fates are closer to one another's
Than one might think, seeing my face and yours:
The whole divine abyss is present in your eyes,
And I feel the starry gulf within my soul;
We are both neighbours of the silent skies.
Madame, since you're beautiful, and I'm old.
June Nights
In summer, when day has fled, when covered with flowers
The distant plain sheds sweet intoxication;
Eyes closed, and ears half-open to muted hours,
We lie only half-asleep in transparent slumber.
The stars seem purer the shade is more delightful;
A hazy half-light colours the dome on high;
And dawn, pale and tender, awaiting her moment,
Seems to wander about all night in the deeps of the sky.
To Theophile Gautier
Friend, poet spirit, you have fled our night,
You left our noise, to penetrate the light;
Now your name will shine on pure summits.
I who knew you young and beautiful, I
Who loved you, I who in our great flights,
Distraught, took comfort from your loyal spirit.
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.
Ave, Dea; moriturus te salutat
(Hail, Goddess; he who is about to die salutes you)
To Judith Gautier
Death and beauty are two things profound,
So of dark and azure, that one might say that
They were two sisters terrible and fecund
Possessing the one enigma, the one secret.
O women, voices, gazes, black hair, blonde tresses,
Blaze out, I die! Own to light, love, attraction,
O pearls the sea mingles with its great masses,
O gleaming birds of the forest's sombre ocean!
Judith, our fates are closer to one another's
Than one might think, seeing my face and yours:
The whole divine abyss is present in your eyes,
And I feel the starry gulf within my soul;
We are both neighbours of the silent skies.
Madame, since you're beautiful, and I'm old.
June Nights
In summer, when day has fled, when covered with flowers
The distant plain sheds sweet intoxication;
Eyes closed, and ears half-open to muted hours,
We lie only half-asleep in transparent slumber.
The stars seem purer the shade is more delightful;
A hazy half-light colours the dome on high;
And dawn, pale and tender, awaiting her moment,
Seems to wander about all night in the deeps of the sky.
To Theophile Gautier
Friend, poet spirit, you have fled our night,
You left our noise, to penetrate the light;
Now your name will shine on pure summits.
I who knew you young and beautiful, I
Who loved you, I who in our great flights,
Distraught, took comfort from your loyal spirit.
