Evening Harmony

See come the time when shaking on its stem
Each flower smokes its perfume like a censer
The perfumes and the sounds turn in the evening air
Melancholy waltz and languid ecstasy

Each flower smokes its perfume like a censer
The violin moans like a heart in pain
Melancholy waltz and languid ecstasy
The sky is a sad and lovely altar

The violin moans, a heart in pain
A tender heart that hates the great black void
The sky is sad and lovely as an altar
The sun drowns in its blood, which congeals

A tender heart that hates the great black void
Of the luminous past harvests every trace
The sun is drowned in its clotted blood
Your memory in me shines like a host of stars

Evening Harmony (Rough)

See come the times when shaking on their stems
Each flower evaporates like an incense burner
The perfumes and the sounds turn in the evening air
Melancholy waltz and langourous ecstasy

Each flower evaporates like an incense burner
The violin trembles like a distressed heart
Melancholy waltz and langourous ecstasy
The sky is sad and beautiful like a great altar

The violin trembles like a distressed heart
A tender heart that hates the great black nothingness
The sky is sad and beautiful like a great altar
The sun is drowned in its congealing blood

A tender heart that hates the great black nothingness
Of the luminous past collects every trace
The sun is drowned in its congealing blood
Your memory in me shines like a monstrance

Harmonie du soir

Voici venir les temps où vibrant sur sa tige,
Chaque fleur s'évapore ainsi qu'un encensoir ;
Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l'air du soir ;
Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige !

Chaque fleur s'évapore ainsi q'un encensoir ;
Le violon frémit comme un coeur qu'on afflige ;
Valse melancolique et langoureux vertige !
Le ciel est triste et beau comme un grand reposoir.

Le violon frémit comme un coeur qu'on afflige,
Un coeur tendre, qui hait le néant vaste et noir !
Le ciel est triste et beau comme un grand reposoir ;
Le soleil s'est noyé dans son sang qui se fige.

Un coeur tendre, qui hait le néant vaste et noir,
Du passé lumineux recueille tout vestige !
Le soleil s'est noyé dans son sang qui se fige...
Ton souvenir en moi luit comme un ostensoir !

The Albatross

Often, to amuse themselves, sailors
take albatrosses, vast birds of the seas
who follow, indolent companions of the voyage
the ship sailing over the bitter gulfs

No sooner than they have laid them on the planks
than these kings of the sky, clumsy and ashamed
let piteously their great white wings
like oars, trail by their sides

The winged voyager, how he is gauche and weak!
He, so recently so beautiful, how he is comic and ugly!
A sailor burns his beak with a clay-pipe,
Another mimes, limping, the cripple who once flew!

The poet is like this prince of the clouds
who haunts the tempest and laughs at the archer
Exiled on the ground, in the realm of jeers,
The wings of a giant ruin his walk.

The Albatross (Rough)

Often, to amuse themselves, the men of the crew
take albatrosses, vast birds of the seas
who follow, indolent companions of the voyage
the ship sailing over the bitter gulfs

No sooner than they have laid them on the planks
than these kings of the sky, clumsy and ashamed
let piteously their great white wings
like oars, trail next to them

This winged voyager, how he is clumsy and feeble!
He, so recently so beautiful, how he is comic and ugly!
The one annoys his beak with a short clay pipe,
The other mimes, limping, the cripple who flew!

The poet is like the prince of the clouds
who haunts the tempest and laughs at the archer
Exiled on the ground, in the middle of jeers,
His giant's wings prevent him from walking.

L'Albatros

Souvent, pour s'amuser, les hommes d'équipage
Prennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux de mers
Qui suivent, indolent compagnons de voyage,
Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers.

A peine les ont-ils déposés sur les planches
Que ces rois de l'azur, maladroits et honteux,
Laissent pitieusement leurs grandes ailes blanches
Comme des avirons, traîner à côté d'eux

Ce voyageur ailé, comme il est gauche et veule!
Lui, naguère si beau, qu'il est comique et laid!
L'un agace son bec avec un brûle-gueule,
L'autre mime, en boitant, l'infirme qui volait!

Le Poëte est semblable au prince des nuées
Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer;
Exilé sur le sol, au milieu des huées,
Ses ailes du géant l'empêchent de marcher.

Beauty

I am lovely, O mortals, as a dream of stone,
And my breast, where all break, by and by,
Is made to inspire in poets a love
As endless and silent as world.

I throne in the blue like a mystery sphinx,
I unite a heart of snow with the whiteness of swans,
I hate the movements which displace my lines
And never do I laugh and never do I cry

Poets, before my great attitudes,
Which I seem to take from the proudest steles
Will eat up their days in austere thoughts

As I've, to fascinate these docile lovers
Pure mirrors, which make all things more beautiful
My eyes. My large eyes of eternal light.

Beauty (Rough Translation)

I am lovely, O mortals, as a dream of stone,
And my breast, where everyone has tortured himself turn by turn,
Is made to inspire in poets a love
Eternal and mute as material.

I throne in the blue like a non-understood sphinx,
I unite a heart of snow with the whiteness of swans,
I hate the movement which displaces the lines
And never do I cry and never do I laugh.

Poets, before my great attitudes,
Which I've the air of borrowing from the proudest monuments
Will eat up their days in austere studies

Cos I've, to fascinate these docile lovers
Pure mirrors, which make all things more beautiful
My eyes. My large eyes with lights eternal.

La Beauté

Je suis belle, ô mortels! comme un rêve de pierre,
Et mon sein, où chacun s'est meurtri tour à tour,
Est fait pour inspirer aux poëte un amour
Éternel et muet, ainsi que le matière.

Je trône dans l'azur comme un sphinx incompris.
J'unis un coeur de neige à le blancheur des cygnes
Je hais le mouvement qui déplace les lignes
Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.

Les poëtes, devant mes grandes attitudes,
Que j'ai l'air d'emprunter aux plus fiers monuments,
Consumeront leurs jours en d'austères études;

Car j'ai, pour fasciner ces dociles amants,
Des purs miroirs qui font tout choses plus belles:
Mes yeux, mes larges yeux aux clartés eternelles!