Tears are shed in my heart like the rain on the town.
(Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville.)
Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville.
Tags: poetry
Here are fruits, flowers, leaves and branches, and here is my heart which beats only for you.
Paul VerlaineYour soul is a chosen landscape
Where charming masked and costumed figures go
Playing the lute and dancing and almost
Sad beneath their fantastic disguises.
All sing in a minor key
Of all-conquering love and careless fortune
They do not seem to believe in their happiness
And their song mingles with the moonlight.
The still moonlight, sad and beautiful,
Which gives the birds to dream in the trees
And makes the fountain sprays sob in ecstasy,
The tall, slender fountain sprays among the marble statues.
A vast black sleep
falls over my life
sleep, all hope
sleep, all desire.
Sève qui monte et fleur qui pousse,
Ton enfance est une charmille :
Laisse errer mes doigts dans la mousse
Où le bouton de rose brille.
Tags: francais french-poetry
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!
An infinite
Resignedness
Rains where the white
Mists opalesce
In the moon-shower...
A poem is really a kind of machine for producing the poetic state by means of words.
Paul Verlaineje suis l'empire à la fin de la décadence.
Paul VerlainePage 1 of 2.
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