Poems of Paul Verlaine Part 2

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...o...b..iees

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.--PeTRUS 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?

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Le Piano Que Baise Une Main Frele"]

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 etre tombe dans la riviere. 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.