Paul Verlaine

“ 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.... ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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?"
HOPE SHINES—AS IN A STABLE A WISP OF STRAW Hope shines—as in a stable a wisp of straw. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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
PROLOGUE Glimm'ring twilight things are these, Visions of the end of night. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ What is it that you want, ghost musical That fade toward the window waveringly A little open on the garden small?
Oh, heavy, heavy my despair, Because, because of One so fair. My misery knows no allay, Although my heart has come away. ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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 ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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; ”