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...
Voici que, les jardins de la nuit vont fleurir.
Les lignes, les couleurs, les sons deviennent vagues.
Vois, le dernier rayon agonise à tes bagues.
Ma sœur, n'entends-tu pas quelque chose mourir !...
Mets sur mon front tes mains fraîches comme une eau pure,
Mets sur mes yeux tes mains douces comme des fleurs,
Et que mon âme où vit le goût secret des pleurs.
Soit comme un lys fidèle et pâle à ta ceinture.
C'est la Pitié qui pose ainsi son doigt sur nous ;
Et tout ce que la terre a de soupirs qui montent,
Il semble qu'à mon âme enivré, le racontent
Tes yeux levés au ciel, si tristes et si doux.
Note: the text above is taken from stanzas 7-9 of the original text.
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This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 36
Word count: 310
...
And now the gardens of the night will bloom.
The lines, colours, and sounds become vague.
Look, the final ray touches your rings and expires.
Oh sister, can you not hear something die!...
Place on my forehead your hands like pure water,
place on my eyes your hands sweet as flowers,
and may my soul with its secret taste for tears
be like a pale and faithful lily that you wear.
It is Pity that puts its finger on us thus:
and all of the sighs that rise from the earth
(so thinks my enraptured heart) are retold
by your eyes raised skyward, so sad and so gentle.
Note: the text above is taken from stanzas 7-9 of the original text.
Text Authorship:
Based on:
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2023-10-05
Line count: 36
Word count: 319
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