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diff --git a/8426-8.txt b/8426-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..57aaa13 --- /dev/null +++ b/8426-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2032 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems of Paul Verlaine, by Paul Verlaine + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poems of Paul Verlaine + +Author: Paul Verlaine + +Illustrator: Henry McCarter + +Translator: Gertrude Hall + +Release Date: July, 2005 [EBook #8426] +Posting Date: August 8, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF PAUL VERLAINE *** + + + + +Produced by Michael Castelluccio + + + + + +POEMS OF PAUL VERLAINE + + +By Paul Verlaine + +Translated by Gertrude Hall + +Pictured by Henry McCarter + + +[Illustration: "Portrait of Paul Verlaine"] + + +Contents + + +I. FÊTES GALANTES + + Clair de Lune + Sur L'Herbe + L'Allée + A la Promenade + Le Faune + Mandoline + L'Amour Par Terre + En Sourdine + Colloque Sentimental + +II. LA BONNE CHANSON + + Since Shade Relents, Since 'Tis Indeed the Day + Before Your Light Quite Fail + O'er the Wood's Brow + The Scene Behind the Carriage Windowpanes + The Rosy Hearth, The Lamplight's Narrow Beam + It Shall Be, Then, Upon a Summer's Day + +III. ROMANCES SANS PAROLES + + ARIETTES OUBLIÉES + It Weeps In My Heart + The Keyboard, Over Which Two Slim Hands Float + O Heavy, Heavy My Despair + The Trees' Reflection in the Misty Stream + + PAYSAGES BELGES + Bruxelles + + BIRDS IN THE NIGHT + You Were Not Over-patient with Me, Dear + But You Will Own That I was in the Right + And Wherefore Should I Lay My Heartwounds Bare? + Now I Do Not Intend--What Were the Gain? + I See You Still. I Softly Pushed the door + I See You Still. I Softly Dressed in a Summer Dress + Some Moments I'm the Tempest-driven Bark + + AQUARELLES + Green + Spleen + Streets + +IV. SAGESSE + + What Sayst Thou, Traveller, Of All Thou Saw'st Afar? + The False Fair Days + Give Ear Unto the Gentle Lay + I've Seen Again the One Child: Verily + "Son, Thou Must Love Me!--See-" My Saviour Said + Hope Shines--As in a Stable a Wisp of Straw + Sleep, Darksome, Deep + The Sky-Blue Smiles Above the Roof + It Is You, It Is You, Poor Better Thoughts + 'Tis the Feast of Corn, 'Tis the Feast of Bread + +V. JADIS ET NAGUÈRE + JADIS + Prologue + Langueur + NAGUÈRE + Prologue + +VI. PARALLÈLEMENT + + Impression Fausse + +VII. POÈMES SATURNIENS + + Prologue + + MELANCHOLIA + Nevermore + Après Trois Ans + Mon Rêve Familier + A Une Femme + + PAYSAGES TRISTES + Chanson D'Automne + Le Rossignol + + CAPRICES + Il Bacio + +ÉPILOGUE + + + + + Fêtes Galantes + +[Illustration: "Clair De Lune"] + + + + +CLAIR DE LUNE. + + Your soul is as a moonlit landscape fair, + Peopled with maskers delicate and dim, + That play on lutes and dance and have an air + Of being sad in their fantastic trim. + + The while they celebrate in minor strain + Triumphant love, effective enterprise, + They have an air of knowing all is vain,-- + And through the quiet moonlight their songs rise, + + The melancholy moonlight, sweet and lone, + That makes to dream the birds upon the tree, + And in their polished basins of white stone + The fountains tall to sob with ecstasy. + + + + +SUR L'HERBE. + + "The abbé rambles."--"You, marquis, + Have put your wig on all awry."-- + "This wine of Cyprus kindles me + Less, my Camargo, than your eye!" + + "My passion"--"Do, mi, sol, la, si."-- + "Abbé, your villany lies bare."-- + "Mesdames, I climb up yonder tree + And fetch a star down, I declare." + + "Let each kiss his own lady, then + The others."--"Would that I were, too, + A lap-dog!"--"Softly, gentlemen!"-- + "Do, mi."--"The moon!"--"Hey, how d'ye do?" + + + + +L' ALLÉE. + + Powdered and rouged as in the sheepcotes' day, + Fragile 'mid her enormous ribbon bows, + Along the shaded alley, where green grows + The moss on the old seats, she wends her way + With mincing graces and affected airs, + Such as more oft a petted parrot wears. + Her long gown with the train is blue; the fan + She spreads between her jewelled fingers slim + Is merry with a love-scene, of so dim + Suggestion, her eyes smile the while they scan. + Blonde; dainty nose; plump, cherry lips, divine + With pride unconscious.--Subtler, certainly, + Than is the mouche there set to underline + The rather foolish brightness of the eye. + + + + +A LA PROMENADE. + + The milky sky, the hazy, slender trees, + Seem smiling on the light costumes we wear,-- + Our gauzy floating veils that have an air + Of wings, our satins fluttering in the breeze. + + And in the marble bowl the ripples gleam, + And through the lindens of the avenue + The sifted golden sun comes to us blue + And dying, like the sunshine of a dream. + + Exquisite triflers and deceivers rare, + Tender of heart, but little tied by vows, + Deliciously we dally 'neath the boughs, + And playfully the lovers plague the fair. + + Receiving, should they overstep a point, + A buffet from a hand absurdly small, + At which upon a gallant knee they fall + To kiss the little finger's littlest joint. + + And as this is a shocking liberty, + A frigid glance rewards the daring swain,-- + Not quite o'erbalancing with its disdain + The red mouth's reassuring clemency. + + + + +LE FAUNE. + + An ancient terra-cotta Faun, + A laughing note in 'mid the green, + Grins at us from the central lawn, + With secret and sarcastic mien. + + It is that he foresees, perchance, + A bad end to the moments dear + That with gay music and light dance + Have led us, pensive pilgrims, here. + + + + +MANDOLINE. + + The courtly serenaders, + The beauteous listeners, + Sit idling 'neath the branches + A balmy zephyr stirs. + + It's Tircis and Aminta, + Clitandre,--ever there!-- + Damis, of melting sonnets + To many a frosty fair. + + Their trailing flowery dresses, + Their fine beflowered coats, + Their elegance and lightness, + And shadows blue,--all floats + + And mingles,--circling, wreathing, + In moonlight opaline, + While through the zephyr's harping + Tinkles the mandoline. + + + + +L'AMOUR PAR TERRE + + The wind the other night blew down the Love + That in the dimmest corner of the park + So subtly used to smile, bending his arc, + And sight of whom did us so deeply move + + One day! The other night's wind blew him down! + The marble dust whirls in the morning breeze. + Oh, sad to view, o'erblotted by the trees, + There on the base, the name of great renown! + + Oh, sad to view the empty pedestal! + And melancholy fancies come and go + Across my dream, whereon a day of woe + Foreshadowed is--I know what will befall! + + Oh, sad!--And you are saddened also, Sweet, + Are not you, by this scene? although your eye + Pursues the gold and purple butterfly + That flutters o'er the wreck strewn at our feet. + + +[Illustration: "En Sourdine"] + + + + +EN SOURDINE + + Tranquil in the twilight dense + By the spreading branches made, + Let us breathe the influence + Of the silence and the shade. + + Let your heart melt into mine, + And your soul reach out to me, + 'Mid the languors of the pine + And the sighing arbute-tree. + + Close your eyes, your hands let be + Folded on your slumbering heart, + From whose hold all treachery + Drive forever, and all art. + + Let us with the hour accord! + Let us let the gentle wind, + Rippling in the sunburnt sward, + Bring us to a patient mind! + + And when Night across the air + Shall her solemn shadow fling, + Touching voice of our despair, + Long the nightingale shall sing. + + + + +COLLOQUE SENTIMENTAL + + In the deserted park, silent and vast, + Erewhile two shadowy glimmering figures passed. + + Their lips were colorless, and dead their eyes; + Their words were scarce more audible than sighs. + + In the deserted park, silent and vast, + Two spectres conjured up the buried past. + + "Our ancient ecstasy, do you recall?" + "Why, pray, should I remember it at all?" + + "Does still your heart at mention of me glow? + Do still you see my soul in slumber?" "No!" + + "Ah, blessed, blissful days when our lips met! + You loved me so!" "Quite likely,--I forget." + + "How sweet was hope, the sky how blue and fair!" + "The sky grew black, the hope became despair." + + Thus walked they 'mid the frozen weeds, these dead, + And Night alone o'erheard the things they said. + + + + + La Bonne Chanson + + + + +SINCE SHADE RELENTS + + Since shade relents, since 'tis indeed the day, + Since hope I long had deemed forever flown, + Wings back to me that call on her and pray, + Since so much joy consents to be my own,-- + + The dark designs all I relinquish here, + And all the evil dreams. Ah, done am I + Above all with the narrowed lips, the sneer, + The heartless wit that laughed where one should sigh. + + Away, clenched fist and bosom's angry swell, + That knave and fool at every turn abound. + Away, hard unforgivingness! Farewell, + Oblivion in a hated brewage found! + + For I mean, now a Being of the Morn + Has shed across my night excelling rays + Of love at once immortal and newborn,-- + By favor of her smile, her glance, her grace, + + I mean by you upheld, O gentle hand, + Wherein mine trembles,--led, sweet eyes, by you, + To walk straight, lie the path o'er mossy land + Or barren waste that rocks and pebbles strew. + + Yes, calm I mean to walk through life, and straight, + Patient of all, unanxious of the goal, + Void of all envy, violence, or hate + It shall be duty done with cheerful soul. + + And as I may, to lighten the long way, + Go singing airs ingenuous and brave, + She'll listen to me graciously, I say,-- + And, verily, no other heaven I crave. + + +[Illustration: "Avant Que Tu T'en Ailles."] + + + + +BEFORE YOUR LIGHT QUITE FAIL + + Before your light quite fail, + Already paling star, + (The quail + Sings in the thyme afar!) + + Turn on the poet's eyes + That love makes overrun-- + (See rise + The lark to meet the sun!) + + Your glance, that presently + Must drown in the blue morn; + (What glee + Amid the rustling corn!) + + Then flash my message true + Down yonder,--far away!-- + (The dew + Lies sparkling on the hay.) + + Across what visions seek + The Dear One slumbering still. + (Quick, quick! + The sun has reached the hill!) + + + + + O'ER THE WOOD'S BROW + + O'er the wood's brow, + Pale, the moon stares; + In every bough + Wandering airs + Faintly suspire.... + + O heart's-desire! + + Two willow-trees + Waver and weep, + One in the breeze, + One in the deep + Glass of the stream.... + + Dream we our dream! + + An infinite + Resignedness + Rains where the white + Mists opalesce + In the moon-shower.... + + Stay, perfect hour! + + + + +THE SCENE BEHIND THE CARRIAGE WINDOW-PANES + + The scene behind the carriage window-panes + Goes flitting past in furious flight; whole plains + With streams and harvest-fields and trees and blue + Are swallowed by the whirlpool, whereinto + The telegraph's slim pillars topple o'er, + Whose wires look strangely like a music-score. + + A smell of smoke and steam, a horrid din + As of a thousand clanking chains that pin + A thousand giants that are whipped and howl,-- + And, suddenly, long hoots as of an owl. + + What is it all to me? Since in mine eyes + The vision lingers that beatifies, + Since still the soft voice murmurs in mine ear, + And since the Name, so sweet, so high, so dear, + Pure pivot of this madding whirl, prevails + Above the brutal clangor of the rails? + + + + + THE ROSY HEARTH, THE LAMPLIGHT'S NARROW BEAM + + The rosy hearth, the lamplight's narrow beam, + The meditation that is rather dream, + With looks that lose themselves in cherished looks; + The hour of steaming tea and banished books; + The sweetness of the evening at an end, + The dear fatigue, and right to rest attained, + And worshipped expectation of the night,-- + Oh, all these things, in unrelenting flight, + My dream pursues through all the vain delays, + Impatient of the weeks, mad at the days! + + + + + IT SHALL BE, THEN, UPON A SUMMER'S DAY + + It shall be, then, upon a summer's day: + The sun, my joy's accomplice, bright shall shine, + And add, amid your silk and satin fine, + To your dear radiance still another ray; + + The heavens, like a sumptuous canopy, + Shall shake out their blue folds to droop and trail + About our happy brows, that shall be pale + With so much gladness, such expectancy; + + And when day closes, soft shall be the air + That in your snowy veils, caressing, plays, + And with soft-smiling eyes the stars shall gaze + Benignantly upon the wedded pair. + + + + + Romances sans Paroles + + + + +Ariettes Oubliées + + + + +Il pleut doucement sur la ville.--ARTHUR RIMBAUD + + It weeps in my heart + As it rains on the town. + What is this dull smart + Possessing my heart? + + Soft sound of the rain + On the ground and the roofs! + To a heart in pain, + O the song of the rain! + + It weeps without cause + In my heart-sick heart. + In her faith, what? no flaws? + This grief has no cause. + + 'Tis sure the worst woe + To know not wherefore + My heart suffers so + Without joy or woe. + + + + +Son joyeux, importun, d'un clavecin sonore.--PÉTRUS BOREL + + The keyboard, over which two slim hands float, + Shines vaguely in the twilight pink and gray, + Whilst with a sound like wings, note after note + Takes flight to form a pensive little lay + That strays, discreet and charming, faint, remote, + About the room where perfumes of Her stray. + + What is this sudden quiet cradling me + To that dim ditty's dreamy rise and fall? + What do you want with me, pale melody? + What is it that you want, ghost musical + That fade toward the window waveringly + A little open on the garden small? + + +[Illustration: "Le Piano Que Baise Une Main Frêle"] + + + + +Oh, heavy, heavy my despair, + Because, because of One so fair. + + My misery knows no allay, + Although my heart has come away. + + Although my heart, although my soul, + Have fled the fatal One's control. + + My misery knows no allay, + Although my heart has come away. + + My heart, the too, too feeling one, + Says to my soul, "Can it be done, + + "Can it be done, too feeling heart, + That we from her shall live apart?" + + My soul says to my heart, "Know I + What this strange pitfall should imply, + + "That we, though far from her, are near, + Yea, present, though in exile here?" + + + Le rossignol qui du haut d'une branche se regarde + dedans, croit être tombé dans la rivière. Il est au sommet + d'un chene, et toutefois il a peur de se noyer. + CYRANO DE BERGERAC. + + The trees' reflection in the misty stream + Dies off in livid steam; + Whilst up among the actual boughs, forlorn, + The tender wood-doves mourn. + + How wan the face, O traveller, this wan + Gray landscape looked upon; + And how forlornly in the high tree-tops + Lamented thy drowned hopes! + + + + +Paysages Belges + + + + +BRUXELLES + + Hills and fences hurry by + Blent in greenish-rosy flight, + And the yellow carriage-light + Blurs all to the half-shut eye. + + Slowly turns the gold to red + O'er the humble darkening vales; + Little trees that flatly spread, + Where some feeble birdling wails. + + Scarcely sad, so mild and fair + This enfolding Autumn seems; + All my moody languor dreams, + Cradled by the gentle air. + + + + +Birds in the Night + + I + You were not over-patient with me, dear; + This want of patience one must rightly rate: + You are so young! Youth ever was severe + And variable and inconsiderate! + + You had not all the needful kindness, no; + Nor should one be amazed, unhappily: + You're very young, cold sister mine, and so + 'Tis natural you should unfeeling be! + + Behold me therefore ready to forgive; + Not gay, of course! but doing what I can + To bear up bravely,--deeply though I grieve + To be, through you, the most unhappy man. + + + + + II + But you will own that I was in the right + When in my downcast moods I used to say + That your sweet eyes, my hope, once, and delight! + Were come to look like eyes that will betray. + + It was an evil lie, you used to swear, + And your glance, which was lying, dear, would flame,-- + Poor fire, near out, one stirs to make it flare!-- + And in your soft voice you would say, "Je t'aime!" + + Alas! that one should clutch at happiness + In sense's, season's, everything's despite!-- + But 'twas an hour of gleeful bitterness + When I became convinced that I was right! + + + + + III + And wherefore should I lay my heart-wounds bare? + You love me not,--an end there, lady mine; + And as I do not choose that one shall dare + To pity,--I must suffer without sign. + + Yes, suffer! For I loved you well, did I,-- + But like a loyal soldier will I stand + Till, hurt to death, he staggers off to die, + Still filled with love for an ungrateful land. + + O you that were my Beauty and my Own, + Although from you derive all my mischance, + Are not you still my Home, then, you alone, + As young and mad and beautiful as France? + + + + + IV + Now I do not intend--what were the gain?-- + To dwell with streaming eyes upon the past; + But yet my love which you may think lies slain, + Perhaps is only wide awake at last. + + My love, perhaps,--which now is memory!-- + Although beneath your blows it cringe and cry + And bleed to will, and must, as I foresee, + Still suffer long and much before it die,-- + + Judges you justly when it seems aware + Of some not all banal compunction, + And of your memory in its despair + Reproaching you, "Ah, fi! it was ill done!" + + + + + V + I see you still. I softly pushed the door-- + As one o'erwhelmed with weariness you lay; + But O light body love should soon restore, + You bounded up, tearful at once and gay. + + O what embraces, kisses sweet and wild! + Myself, from brimming eyes I laughed to you + Those moments, among all, O lovely child, + Shall be my saddest, but my sweetest, too. + + I will remember your smile, your caress, + Your eyes, so kind that day,--exquisite snare!-- + Yourself, in fine, whom else I might not bless, + Only as they appeared, not as they were. + + + + + VI + I see you still! Dressed in a summer dress, + Yellow and white, bestrewn with curtain-flowers; + But you had lost the glistening laughingness + Of our delirious former loving hours. + + The eldest daughter and the little wife + Spoke plainly in your bearing's least detail,-- + Already 'twas, alas! our altered life + That stared me from behind your dotted veil. + + Forgiven be! And with no little pride + I treasure up,--and you, no doubt, see why,-- + Remembrance of the lightning to one side + That used to flash from your indignant eye! + + + + + VII + Some moments, I'm the tempest-driven bark + That runs dismasted mid the hissing spray, + And seeing not Our Lady through the dark + Makes ready to be drowned, and kneels to pray. + + Some moments, I'm the sinner at his end, + That knows his doom if he unshriven go, + And losing hope of any ghostly friend, + Sees Hell already gape, and feels it glow. + + Oh, but! Some moments, I've the spirit stout + Of early Christians in the lion's care, + That smile to Jesus witnessing, without + A nerve's revolt, the turning of a hair! + + + + + Aquarelles + + + + +GREEN + + See, blossoms, branches, fruit, leaves I have brought, + And then my heart that for you only sighs; + With those white hands of yours, oh, tear it not, + But let the poor gift prosper in your eyes. + + The dew upon my hair is still undried,-- + The morning wind strikes chilly where it fell. + Suffer my weariness here at your side + To dream the hour that shall it quite dispel. + + Allow my head, that rings and echoes still + With your last kiss, to lie upon your breast, + Till it recover from the stormy thrill,-- + And let me sleep a little, since you rest. + + + + + SPLEEN + + The roses were so red, so red, + The ivies altogether black. + + If you but merely turn your head, + Beloved, all my despairs come back! + + The sky was over-sweet and blue, + Too melting green the sea did show. + + I always fear,--if you but knew!-- + From your dear hand some killing blow. + + Weary am I of holly-tree + And shining box and waving grass + + Upon the tame unending lea,-- + And all and all but you, alas! + + + + +STREETS + + Let's dance the jig! + + Above all else I loved her eyes, + More clear than stars of cloudless skies, + And arch and mischievous and wise. + + Let's dance the jig! + + So skilfully would she proceed + To make a lover's bare heart bleed, + That it was beautiful indeed! + + Let's dance the jig! + + But keenlier have I relished + The kisses of her mouth so red + Since to my heart she has been dead. + + Let's dance the jig! + + The circumstances great and small,-- + Words, moments... I recall, recall + It is my treasure among all. + + Let's dance the jig! + + + + + Sagesse + + WHAT SAYST THOU, TRAVELLER, OF ALL THOU SAW'ST AFAR? + + What sayst thou, traveller, of all thou saw'st afar? + On every tree hangs boredom, ripening to its fall, + Didst gather it, thou smoking yon thy sad cigar, + Black, casting an incongruous shadow on the wall? + + Thine eyes are just as dead as ever they have been, + Unchanged is thy grimace, thy dolefulness is one, + Thou mind'st one of the wan moon through the rigging seen, + The wrinkled sea beneath the golden morning sun, + + The ancient graveyard with new gravestones every day,-- + But, come, regale us with appropriate detail, + Those disillusions weeping at the fountains, say, + Those new disgusts, just like their brothers, littered stale, + + Those women! Say the glare, the identical dismay + Of ugliness and evil, always, in all lands, + And say Love, too,--and Politics, moreover, say, + With ink-dishonored blood upon their shameless hands. + + And then, above all else, neglect not to recite + Thy proper feats, thou dragging thy simplicity + Wherever people love, wherever people fight, + In such a sad and foolish kind, in verity! + + Has that dull innocence been punished as it should? + What say'st thou? Man is hard,--but woman? And thy tears, + Who has been drinking? And into what ear so good + Dost pour thy woes for it to pour in other ears? + + Ah, others! ah, thyself! Gulled with such curious ease, + That used to dream (Doth not the soul with laughter fill?) + One knows not what poetic, delicate decease,-- + Thou sort of angel with the paralytic will! + + But now what are thy plans, thine aims? Art thou of might? + Or has long shedding tears disqualified thy heart? + The tree is scarcely hardy, judging it at sight, + And by thy looks no topping conqueror thou art. + + So awkward, too! With the additional offence + Of being now a sort of dazed idyllic bard + That poses in a window, contemplating thence + The silly noon-day sky with an impressed regard. + + So totally the same in this extreme decay! + But in thy place a being with some sense, pardy, + Would wish at least to lead the dance, since he must pay + The fiddlers,--at some risk of flutt'ring passers-by! + + Canst not, by rummaging within thy consciousness, + Find some bright vice to bare, as 't were a flashing sword? + Some gay, audacious vice, which wield with dexterousness, + And make to shine, and shoot red lightnings Heavenward! + + Hast one, or more? If more, the better! And plunge in, + And bravely lay about thee, indiscriminate, + And wear that face of indolence that masks the grin + Of hate at once full-feasted and insatiate. + + Not well to be a dupe in this good universe, + Where there is nothing to allure in happiness + Save in it wriggle aught of shameful and perverse,-- + And not to be a dupe, one must be merciless! + + --Ah, human wisdom, ah, new things have claimed mine eyes, + And of that past--of weary recollection!-- + Thy voice described, for still more sinister advice, + All I remember is the evil I have done. + + In all the curious movements of my sad career, + Of others and myself, the chequered road I trod, + Of my accounted sorrows, good and evil cheer, + I nothing have retained except the grace of God! + + If I am punished, 'tis most fit I should be so; + Played to its end is mortal man's and woman's rôle,-- + But steadfastly I hope I too one day shall know + The peace and pardon promised every Christian soul. + + Well not to be a dupe in this world of a day, + But not to be one in the world that hath no end, + That which it doth behoove the soul to be and stay + Is merciful, not merciless,--deluded friend. + + + + +THE FALSE FAIR DAYS + + The false fair days have flamed the livelong day, + And still they flicker in the brazen West. + Cast down thine eyes, poor soul, shut out the unblest: + A deadliest temptation. Come away. + + All day they flashed in flakes of fire, that lay + The vintage low upon the hill's green breast, + The harvest low,--and o'er that faithfullest, + The blue sky ever beckoning, shed dismay. + + Oh, clasp thy hands, grow pale, and turn again! + If all the future savoured of the past? + If the old insanity were on its way? + + Those memories, must each anew be slain? + One fierce assault, the best, no doubt, the last! + Go pray against the gathering storm, go pray! + + + + +GIVE EAR UNTO THE GENTLE LAY + + Give ear unto the gentle lay + That's only sad that it may please; + It is discreet, and light it is: + A whiff of wind o'er buds in May. + + The voice was known to you (and dear?), + But it is muffled latterly + As is a widow,--still, as she + It doth its sorrow proudly bear, + + And through the sweeping mourning veil + That in the gusts of Autumn blows, + Unto the heart that wonders, shows + Truth like a star now flash, now fail. + + It says,--the voice you knew again!-- + That kindness, goodness is our life, + And that of envy, hatred, strife, + When death is come, shall naught remain. + + It says how glorious to be + Like children, without more delay, + The tender gladness it doth say + Of peace not bought with victory. + + Accept the voice,--ah, hear the whole + Of its persistent, artless strain: + Naught so can soothe a soul's own pain, + As making glad another soul! + + It pines in bonds but for a day, + The soul that without murmur bears.... + How unperplexed, how free it fares! + Oh, listen to the gentle lay! + + + + +I'VE SEEN AGAIN THE ONE CHILD: VERILY + + I've seen again the One child: verily, + I felt the last wound open in my breast, + The last, whose perfect torture doth attest + That on some happy day I too shall die! + + Good icy arrow, piercing thoroughly! + Most timely came it from their dreams to wrest + The sluggish scruples laid too long to rest,-- + And all my Christian blood hymned fervently. + + I still hear, still I see! O worshipped rule + Of God! I know at last how comfortful + To hear and see! I see, I hear alway! + + O innocence, O hope! Lowly and mild, + How I shall love you, sweet hands of my child, + Whose task shall be to close our eyes one day! + + + + + "SON, THOU MUST LOVE ME! SEE--" MY SAVIOUR SAID + + "Son, thou must love me! See--" my Saviour said, + "My heart that glows and bleeds, my wounded side, + My hurt feet that the Magdalene, wet-eyed, + Clasps kneeling, and my tortured arms outspread + + "To bear thy sins. Look on the cross, stained red! + The nails, the sponge, that, all, thy soul shall guide + To love on earth where flesh thrones in its pride, + My Body and Blood alone, thy Wine and Bread. + + "Have I not loved thee even unto death, + O brother mine, son in the Holy Ghost? + Have I not suffered, as was writ I must, + + "And with thine agony sobbed out my breath? + Hath not thy nightly sweat bedewed my brow, + O lamentable friend that seek'st me now?" + + +[Illustration: "Mon Dieu M'a Dit."] + + + + + HOPE SHINES--AS IN A STABLE A WISP OF STRAW + + Hope shines--as in a stable a wisp of straw. + Fear not the wasp drunk with his crazy flight! + Through some chink always, see, the moted light! + Propped on your hand, you dozed--But let me draw + + Cool water from the well for you, at least, + Poor soul! There, drink! Then sleep. See, I remain, + And I will sing a slumberous refrain, + And you shall murmur like a child appeased. + + Noon strikes. Approach not, Madam, pray, or call.... + He sleeps. Strange how a woman's light footfall + Re-echoes through the brains of grief-worn men! + + Noon strikes. I bade them sprinkle in the room. + Sleep on! Hope shines--a pebble in the gloom. + --When shall the Autumn rose re-blossom,--when? + + + + +SLEEP, DARKSOME, DEEP + + Sleep, darksome, deep, + Doth on me fall: + Vain hopes all, sleep, + Sleep, yearnings all! + + Lo, I grow blind! + Lo, right and wrong + Fade to my mind.... + O sorry song! + + A cradle, I, + Rocked in a grave: + Speak low, pass by, + Silence I crave! + + +[Illustration: Le Ciel et Les Toits.] + + + + +THE SKY-BLUE SMILES ABOVE THE ROOF + + The sky-blue smiles above the roof + Its tenderest; + A green tree rears above the roof + Its waving crest. + + The church-bell in the windless sky + Peaceably rings, + A skylark soaring in the sky + Endlessly sings. + + My God, my God, all life is there, + Simple and sweet; + The soothing bee-hive murmur there + Comes from the street! + + What have you done, O you that weep + In the glad sun,-- + Say, with your youth, you man that weep, + What have you done? + + + + + IT IS YOU + + It is you, it is you, poor better thoughts! + The needful hope, shame for the ancient blots, + Heart's gentleness with mind's severity, + And vigilance, and calm, and constancy, + And all!--But slow as yet, though well awake; + Though sturdy, shy; scarce able yet to break + The spell of stifling night and heavy dreams. + One comes after the other, and each seems + Uncouther, and all fear the moonlight cold. + "Thus, sheep when first they issue from the fold, + Come,--one, then two, then three. The rest delay, + With lowered heads, in stupid, wondering way, + Waiting to do as does the one that leads. + He stops, they stop in turn, and lay their heads + Across his back, simply, not knowing why."* + Your shepherd, O my fair flock, is not I,-- + It is a better, better far, who knows + The reasons, He that so long kept you close, + But timely with His own hand set you free. + Him follow,--light His staff. And I shall be, + Beneath his voice still raised to comfort you, + I shall be, I, His faithful dog, and true. + + * Dante, Purgatorio. + + + + + 'TIS THE FEAST OF CORN + + 'Tis the feast of corn, 'tis the feast of bread, + On the dear scene returned to, witnessed again! + So white is the light o'er the reapers shed + Their shadows fall pink on the level grain. + + The stalked gold drops to the whistling flight + Of the scythes, whose lightning dives deep, leaps clear; + The plain, labor-strewn to the confines of sight, + Changes face at each instant, gay and severe. + + All pants, all is effort and toil 'neath the sun, + The stolid old sun, tranquil ripener of wheat, + Who works o'er our haste imperturbably on + To swell the green grape yon, turning it sweet. + + Work on, faithful sun, for the bread and the wine, + Feed man with the milk of the earth, and bestow + The frank glass wherein unconcern laughs divine,-- + Ye harvesters, vintagers, work on, aglow! + + For from the flour's fairest, and from the vine's best, + Fruit of man's strength spread to earth's uttermost, + God gathers and reaps, to His purposes blest, + The Flesh and the Blood for the chalice and host! + + + + +Jadis et Naguère + + + + +Jadis + + + + +PROLOGUE + + Off, be off, now, graceless pack: + Get you gone, lost children mine: + Your release is earned in fine: + The Chimaera lends her back. + + Huddling on her, go, God-sped, + As a dream-horde crowds and cowers + Mid the shadowy curtain-flowers + Round a sick man's haunted bed. + + Hold! My hand, unfit before, + Feeble still, but feverless, + And which palpitates no more + Save with a desire to bless, + + Blesses you, O little flies + Of my black suns and white nights. + Spread your rustling wings, arise, + Little griefs, little delights, + + Hopes, despairs, dreams foul and fair, + All!--renounced since yesterday + By my heart that quests elsewhere.... + Ite, aegri somnia! + + + + +LANGUEUR + + I am the Empire in the last of its decline, + That sees the tall, fair-haired Barbarians pass,--the while + Composing indolent acrostics, in a style + Of gold, with languid sunshine dancing in each line. + + The solitary soul is heart-sick with a vile + Ennui. Down yon, they say, War's torches bloody shine. + Alas, to be so faint of will, one must resign + The chance of brave adventure in the splendid file,-- + + Of death, perchance! Alas, so lagging in desire! + Ah, all is drunk! Bathyllus, hast done laughing, pray? + Ah, all is drunk,--all eaten! Nothing more to say! + + Alone, a vapid verse one tosses in the fire; + Alone, a somewhat thievish slave neglecting one; + Alone, a vague disgust of all beneath the sun! + + + + +Naguère + + +[Illustration: "Crépuscule du Soir Mystique."] + + + + +PROLOGUE + + Glimm'ring twilight things are these, + Visions of the end of night. + Truth, thou lightest them, I wis, + Only with a distant light, + + Whitening through the hated shade + In such grudging dim degrees, + One must doubt if they be made + By the moon among the trees, + + Or if these uncertain ghosts + Shall take body bye and bye, + And uniting with the hosts + Tented by the azure sky, + + Framed by Nature's setting meet,-- + Offer up in one accord + From the heart's ecstatic heat, + Incense to the living Lord! + + + + +Parallèlement + + + + +IMPRESSION FAUSSE + + Dame mouse patters + Black against the shadow grey; + Dame mouse patters + Grey against the black. + + Hear the bed-time bell! + Sleep forthwith, good prisoners; + Hear the bed-time bell! + You must go to sleep. + + No disturbing dream! + Think of nothing but your loves: + No disturbing dream, + Of the fair ones think! + + Moonlight clear and bright! + Some one of the neighbors snores; + Moonlight clear and bright-- + He is troublesome. + + Comes a pitchy cloud + Creeping o'er the faded moon; + Comes a pitchy cloud-- + See the grey dawn creep! + + Dame mouse patters + Pink across an azure ray; + Dame mouse patters.... + Sluggards, up! 'tis day! + + + + +Poèmes Saturniens + + + + +PROLOGUE + + The Sages of old time, well worth our own, + Believed--and it has been disproved by none-- + That destinies in Heaven written are, + And every soul depends upon a star. + (Many have mocked, without remembering + That laughter oft is a misguiding thing, + This explanation of night's mystery.) + Now all that born beneath Saturnus be,-- + Red planet, to the necromancer dear,-- + Inherit, ancient magic-books make clear, + Good share of spleen, good share of wretchedness. + Imagination, wakeful, vigorless, + In them makes the resolves of reason vain. + The blood within them, subtle as a bane, + Burning as lava, scarce, flows ever fraught + With sad ideals that ever come to naught. + Such must Saturnians suffer, such must die,-- + If so that death destruction doth imply,-- + Their lives being ordered in this dismal sense + By logic of a malign Influence. + + + + +Melancholia + + + + +NEVERMORE + + Remembrance, what wilt thou with me? The year + Declined; in the still air the thrush piped clear, + The languid sunshine did incurious peer + Among the thinned leaves of the forest sere. + + We were alone, and pensively we strolled, + With straying locks and fancies, when, behold + Her turn to let her thrilling gaze enfold, + And ask me in her voice of living gold, + + Her fresh young voice, "What was thy happiest day?" + I smiled discreetly for all answer, and + Devotedly I kissed her fair white hand. + + --Ah, me! The earliest flowers, how sweet are they! + And in how exquisite a whisper slips + The earliest "Yes" from well-beloved lips! + + + + + APRÈS TROIS ANS + + When I had pushed the narrow garden-door, + Once more I stood within the green retreat; + Softly the morning sunshine lighted it, + And every flow'r a humid spangle wore. + + Nothing is changed. I see it all once more: + The vine-clad arbor with its rustic seat.... + The waterjet still plashes silver sweet, + The ancient aspen rustles as of yore. + + The roses throb as in a bygone day, + As they were wont, the tall proud lilies sway. + Each bird that lights and twitters is a friend. + + I even found the Flora standing yet, + Whose plaster crumbles at the alley's end, + --Slim, 'mid the foolish scent of mignonette. + + + + + MON RÊVE FAMILIER + + Oft do I dream this strange and penetrating dream: + An unknown woman, whom I love, who loves me well, + Who does not every time quite change, nor yet quite dwell + The same,--and loves me well, and knows me as I am. + + For she knows me! My heart, clear as a crystal beam + To her alone, ceases to be inscrutable + To her alone, and she alone knows to dispel + My grief, cooling my brow with her tears' gentle stream. + + Is she of favor dark or fair?--I do not know. + Her name? All I remember is that it doth flow + Softly, as do the names of them we loved and lost. + + Her eyes are like the statues',--mild and grave and wide; + And for her voice she has as if it were the ghost + Of other voices,--well-loved voices that have died. + + + + + A UNE FEMME + + To you these lines for the consoling grace + Of your great eyes wherein a soft dream shines, + For your pure soul, all-kind!--to you these lines + From the black deeps of mine unmatched distress. + + 'Tis that the hideous dream that doth oppress + My soul, alas! its sad prey ne'er resigns, + But like a pack of wolves down mad inclines + Goes gathering heat upon my reddened trace! + + I suffer, oh, I suffer cruelly! + So that the first man's cry at Eden lost + Was but an eclogue surely to my cry! + + And that the sorrows, Dear, that may have crossed + Your life, are but as swallows light that fly + --Dear!--in a golden warm September sky. + + + + +Paysages Tristes + + + + +CHANSON D'AUTOMNE + + Leaf-strewing gales + Utter low wails + Like violins,-- + Till on my soul + Their creeping dole + Stealthily wins.... + + Days long gone by! + In such hour, I, + Choking and pale, + Call you to mind,-- + Then like the wind + Weep I and wail. + + And, as by wind + Harsh and unkind, + Driven by grief, + Go I, here, there, + Recking not where, + Like the dead leaf. + + + + + LE ROSSIGNOL + + Like to a swarm of birds, with jarring cries + Descend on me my swarming memories; + Light mid the yellow leaves, that shake and sigh, + Of the bowed alder--that is even I!-- + Brooding its shadow in the violet + Unprofitable river of Regret. + They settle screaming--Then the evil sound, + By the moist wind's impatient hushing drowned, + Dies by degrees, till nothing more is heard + Save the lone singing of a single bird, + Save the clear voice--O singer, sweetly done!-- + Warbling the praises of the Absent One.... + And in the silence of a summer night + Sultry and splendid, by a late moon's light + That sad and sallow peers above the hill, + The humid hushing wind that ranges still + Rocks to a whispered sleepsong languidly + The bird lamenting and the shivering tree. + + + + + Caprices + + + + +IL BACIO + + Kiss! Hollyhock in Love's luxuriant close! + Brisk music played on pearly little keys, + In tempo with the witching melodies + Love in the ardent heart repeating goes. + + Sonorous, graceful Kiss, hail! Kiss divine! + Unequalled boon, unutterable bliss! + Man, bent o'er thine enthralling chalice, Kiss, + Grows drunken with a rapture only thine! + + Thou comfortest as music does, and wine, + And grief dies smothered in thy purple fold. + Let one greater than I, Kiss, and more bold, + Rear thee a classic, monumental line. + + Humble Parisian bard, this infantile + Bouquet of rhymes I tender half in fear.... + Be gracious, and in guerdon, on the dear + Red lips of One I know, alight and smile! + + + + +ÉPILOGUE + + I + The sun, less hot, looks from a sky more clear; + The roses in their sleepy loveliness + Nod to the cradling wind. The atmosphere + Enfolds us with a sister's tenderness. + + For once hath Nature left the splendid throne + Of her indifference, and through the mild + Sun-gilded air of Autumn, clement grown, + Descends to man, her proud, revolted child. + + She takes, to wipe the tears upon our face, + Her azure mantle sown with many a star; + And her eternal soul, her deathless grace, + Strengthen and calm the weak heart that we are. + + The waving of the boughs, the lengthened line + Of the horizon, full of dreamy hues + And scattered songs, all,--sing it, sail, or shine!-- + To-day consoles, delivers!--Let us muse. + + + + + II + So, then this book is closed. Dear Fancies mine, + That streaked my grey sky with your wings of light, + And passing fanned my burning brow, benign,-- + Return, return to your blue Infinite! + + Thou, ringing Rhyme, thou, Verse that smooth didst glide, + Ye, throbbing Rhythms, ye, musical Refrains, + And Memories, and Dreams, and ye beside + Fair Figures called to life with anxious pains, + + We needs must part. Until the happier day + When Art, our Lord, his thralls shall re-unite, + Companions sweet, Farewell and Wellaway, + Fly home, ye may, to your blue Infinite! + + And true it is, we spared not breath or force, + And our good pleasure, like foaming steed + Blind with the madness of his earliest course, + Of rest within the quiet shade hath need. + + --For always have we held thee, Poesy, + To be our Goddess, mighty and august, + Our only passion,--Mother calling thee, + And holding Inspiration in mistrust. + + + + + III + Ah, Inspiration, splendid, dominant, + Egeria with the lightsome eyes profound, + Sudden Erato, Genius quick to grant, + Old picture Angel of the gilt background, + + Muse,--ay, whose voice is powerful indeed, + Since in the first come brain it makes to grow + Thick as some dusty yellow roadside weed, + A gardenful of poems none did sow,-- + + Dove, Holy Ghost, Delirium, Sacred Fire, + Transporting Passion,--seasonable queen!-- + Gabriel and lute, Latona's son and lyre,-- + Ah, Inspiration, summoned at sixteen! + + What we have need of, we, the Poets True, + That not believe in Gods, and yet revere, + That have no halo, hold no golden clue, + For whom no Beatrix leaves her radiant sphere, + + We, that do chisel words like chalices, + And moving verses shape with unmoved mind, + Whom wandering in groups by evening seas, + In musical converse ye scarce shall find,-- + + What we need is, in midnight hours dim-lit, + Sleep daunted, knowledge earned,--more knowledge still! + Is Faust's brow, of the wood-cuts, sternly knit, + Is stubborn Perseverance, and is Will! + + Is Will eternal, holy, absolute, + That grasps--as doth a noble bird of prey + The steaming flanks of the foredoomed brute,-- + Its project, and with it,--skyward, away! + + What we need, we, is fixedness intense, + Unequalled effort, strife that shall not cease, + Is night, the bitter night of labor, whence + Arises, sun-like, slow, the Master-piece! + + Let our Inspired, hearts by an eye-shot tined, + Sway with the birch-tree to all winds that blow, + Poor things! Art knows not the divided mind-- + Speak, Milo's Venus, is she stone or no? + + We therefore, carve we with the chisel Thought + The pure block of the Beautiful, and gain + From out the marble cold where it was not, + Some starry-chitoned statue without stain, + + That one far day, Posterity, new Morn, + Enkindling with a golden-rosy flame + Our Work, new Memnon, shall to ears unborn + Make quiver in the singing air our name! + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems of Paul Verlaine, by Paul Verlaine + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF PAUL VERLAINE *** + +***** This file should be named 8426-8.txt or 8426-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/4/2/8426/ + +Produced by Michael Castelluccio + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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