No More Learning

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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.

I, white with the years that snow down on my head,

Remembering times past, I dream, instead,

Of those young days that saw our dawn,

The struggle, the loud arena, the storm,

The new art offered to the mob's screaming,

And hear, yes, that vast sublime blast fading.

Son of ancient Greece and the new France,

Fierce your respect for the dead, full of hope;

You never shut your eyes to the future.

Theban mage, druid by the dark menhir,

Flamen by Tiber, Brahmin by the Ganges,

Fitting angelic arrow to godlike bow,

Viewing the haunts of Roland, Achilles,

Powerful mysterious smith, you'd know

How to twine sun-rays to a single flame;

In your soul the sunset met the day;

Yesterday tomorrow in your fertile brain;

You crowned the old art father of the new;

You understood that when an unknown soul

Speaks to a nation, lightning in the clouds,

We must open our hearts, accept, love aloud;

Calm you scorned the vile attempts of those

Who dribbled Shakespeare, drooled Aeschylus;

You knew this age had its own air to breathe,

That art progresses by self-transformation,

Beauty's adorned by melding with greatness.

And you were heard to utter cries of joy,

When Drama gripped Paris in its teeth,

When spring chased ancient winter away,

When the wondrous star of new ideals,

Suddenly glittered in the burning sky,

And the Hippogriff stole Pegasus' place.

On the tomb's severe sill I greet you,

You knew the beautiful, go find the true.

Climb the harsh stair. From the black steps' height,

The arches of the dark bridge loom in sight;

Go! Die! The last step's the final hour.