Poems of Paul Verlaine Part 7

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!

Poemes 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 suns.h.i.+ne 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!

APReS TROIS ANS

When I had pushed the narrow garden-door, Once more I stood within the green retreat; Softly the morning suns.h.i.+ne 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 ReVE 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 s.h.i.+nes, 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.