Selected Poems

In what philtre, in what wine, in what infusion we could drown that outdated enemy, harmful and grasping because the courtesan, sufferer because the ant? In what philtre, in what wine, in what infusion? inform me, attractive witch, communicate, in the event you can, to this spirit overborne with suffering and prefer to the death guy being overwhelmed through the wounded, bruised by way of the horse’s hoof, inform him, appealing witch, in case you can, This loss of life guy whom the wolf already scents, and over whom the crow retains watch, this damaged soldier! Say if he needs to depression of getting his pass and his grave, bad demise wretch whom already the wolf scents! will we remove darkness from a muddy, black sky? do we tear via darkness thicker than pitch, with no morning or night, with out stars, with out funereal lightning? will we illuminate a muddy, black sky? desire which shines within the home windows of the resort has been blown out, is lifeless for ever! with no moon or rays, how to define a safeguard for the martyrs of a depraved street? The satan has doused the entire lighting fixtures within the home windows of the resort! lovely witch, do you love damned humans? inform the reality, have you learnt the unforgivable sin? have you learnt regret, with its poisoned arrows and our middle for its goal? cute witch, do you love the damned? The Irreparable gnaws with its cursed the teeth at our soul, that pitiful monument, and infrequently, just like the termite, it assaults the edifice from the bottom. The Irreparable gnaws with its cursed enamel! – i've got occasionally obvious, on the a ways finish of a standard theatre, set on hearth by way of the noise of the orchestra, a fairy remove darkness from a hellish sky with a fantastic sunrise; i've got occasionally noticeable, in a standard theatre, A being made up of not anything yet mild, gold and gauze strike down large devil; yet my middle, which ecstasy by no means visits, is a theatre looking ahead to for ever, for ever and in useless, the Being with the gauzy wings. forty (LVI) Chant d’Automne I Bientôt nous plongerons dans les froides ténèbres; Adieu, vive clarté de nos étés trop courts! J’entends déjà tomber avec des chocs funèbres Le bois retentissant sur le pavé des cours. Tout l’hiver va rentrer dans mon être: colère, Haine, frissons, horreur, labeur dur et forcé, Et, comme le soleil dans son enfer polaire, Mon cœur ne sera plus qu’un bloc rouge et glacé. J’écoute en frémissant chaque bûche qui tombe; L’échafaud qu’on bâtit n’a pas d’écho plus sourd. Mon esprit est pareil à l. a. travel qui succombe Sous les coups du bélier infatigable et lourd. Il me semble, bercé par ce choc monotone, Qu’on cloue en grande hâte un cercueil quelque half. Pour qui? – C’était hier l’été; voici l’automne! Ce bruit mystérieux sonne comme un départ. II J’aime de vos longs yeux l. a. lumière verdâtre, Douce beauté, mais tout aujourd’hui m’est amer, Et rien, ni votre amour, ni le boudoir, ni l’âtre, Ne me vaut le soleil rayonnant sur l. a. mer. Et pourtant aimez-moi, tendre cœur! soyez mère, Même pour un ingrat, même pour un méchant; Amante ou sœur, soyez l. a. douceur éphémère D’un glorieux automne ou d’un soleil couchant. Courte tâche! l. a. tombe attend; elle est avide!