I
Friends, find for me 
far from the city, far from royal palaces,
far from the servile court,	
far from the vile crowd,
find for me a place,

in the fields where the idle soul   
meditates and dreams,
on an obscure shore		
where neither the waves or winds
of society arrive,

a wild refuge,	
a shelter of former days,
a port on the shore, 	
a nest under the foliage,
a manor-house in the woods!

Find for me a place quite sombre,   
quite calm, quite sleepy,
sheltered by numerous trees, 	
hidden deep
in silence and shadow!

And there, more than anything, 
faithful to those who cherish me,
my poetry soars high, and comes to rest	
sometimes on a rose,
sometimes on a high hill.

May it rise boldly,	
free from any shackle,
and fly up tirelessly	
to lose itself in space
like a bird set free.

II
May a dream lift me into the sky	
may a dream full of shadow and love
never ever end,	
and may I dream in the night
of my dream I had that day.

May it be white as the sail	
that I see on the horizon
may it contain a star,		
and be like a veil
between life and me!

May the muse that dives	
into my night to shine
prolong it and gild it,	
and fear to wake me
from the eternal dream!

May all my thoughts	
come and unfold there,
and sit, eagerly		
holding each other
in a circle around my hearth!

And may they all, chained to my dream	
with eyes full of triumph,
bend down to rock it,	
like older sisters
rocking their baby brother!

III
We believe on the cliff-tops		
and in the forests
― as long as we breathe easily,	
as long as nothing weighs on us ― 
that we have a closer view of the sky .

There, everything is like a dream,	
every voice has words,
everything speaks, a song rises	
from the waves on the beach,
and from the air in the branches.

It's a deep voice, 	
a universal chorus,
it's the globe rumbling	
it's the world rocking like a ship
on the ocean of the sky.

It's the magnificent echo	
of the voices of Yahweh,
it's the seraphic hymn	
of the peaceful world
where mortal things live,

where, deaf to women's cries,
to laments and to sobs,
the soul mingles with other souls,
as flames join with flames
and waves join with waves!

IV
This vast noise can be heard		
at any time, in the wilderness.
Paris, a mad place to live,		
gives us a futile concert
rather than this weeping voice.

I'll go for ancient Brittany!	
A rock covered in sea-foam!
A gothic castle
in the Celtic forest!...
provided only

that the welcoming tower	
where I will set up my nest 
will be like an old warrior	
with a plume of ivy
on its granite brow...

provided that the high fireplace	
adorned with a proud escutcheon
may be open wide		
and brightly blazing
as it devours a whole oak...

that in summer the arbour 
shades me from the sky,
and that in winter my family	
sitting around the hearth, 
glows red from the great fire.
 
In the woods, my realms,	
if the air murmurs at night,
may the treetops may it appear	
that there are ghosts' heads
colliding in the night;

and that virgins, 
like bees	filling the sky,
are coming at me, bright red,	
to shake their many-pleated dresses
during my waking hours;

and that the shades of heroes,	
with plaintive voices,
are coming past as fugitives,		
pale under my stone vaults,
dark on my stained-glass windows!

V
If my muse in flight	
carries her cherished nest 
and her winged family	
into the tumbledown hall
of an old iron baron,

it's because I like those past ages, 	
more beautiful if not better
than our wiser centuries.	
To their wild ruins
I devote myself, and I note that

the lively swallow 	
flying onto the tower,
sometimes chooses to raise its brood
safe from the winds 
in an old vulture's nest.

Its humble gentle offspring	
frequently, when playing
nudge and push with their beaks	
the egg of the giant bird
lying broken on the moss.

Like them my verses will play	
among the ancient weapons,
and push the pikes around,		
and laugh, like fantastic dwarves
with great helmets on their heads.

VI
Thus my days will be tied in a sheaf 	
and grow green again
in the superb castle	
like a tuft of grass
high on the battlements.

But, castle or cottage,	
untied from the world,
I will live on light, 	
and ecstasy and prayer,
forgetting and forgotten!