Higher there, higher, far from the ways, from the farms and the valleys, beyond the trees, beyond the hills and the grasses' haze, far from the herd-trampled tapestries, ...
One must be for ever drunken: that is the sole question of importance. If you would not feel the horrible burden of Time that bruises your shoulders and bends you to the earth, you must be drunken without cease. But how? With w...
My sister, my child Imagine how sweet To live there as lovers do! To kiss as we choose To love and to die In that land resembling you! The misty suns Of shifting skies...
I've not forgotten, near to the town, our white house, small but alone: its Pomona of plaster, its Venus of old hiding nude limbs in the meagre grove, and the sun, superb, at evening, streaming,...
I adore you, the nocturnal vault's likeness, o vast taciturnity, o vase of sadness: I love you, my beauty, the more you flee, grace of my nights, the more you seem, to multiply distances, ah ironically,...
Souvent, pour s'amuser, les hommes d''quipage Prennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux des mers, Qui suivent, indolents compagnons de voyage, Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers. ...
So as to write my eclogues in the purest verse I wish to lay me down, like the astrologers, Next to the sky, and hear in reverie the hymns Of all the neighbouring belfries, carried on the wind....
The great-hearted servant of whom you were jealous, sleeping her sleep in the humble grass, shouldn't we take her a few flowers? The dead, the poor dead, have griefs like ours,...
Mother of Roman games and Greek delights, Lesbos, where kisses languorous or glad, As hot as suns, or watermelon-fresh, Make festivals of days and glorious nights; Mother of Roman games and Greek delights,...
On the old oak benches, more shiny and polished than links of a chain that were, each day, burnished rubbed by our human flesh, we, still un-bearded, trailed our ennui, hunched, round-shouldered,...
Free man, you'll love the ocean endlessly! It is your mirror, you observe your soul In how its billows endlessly unroll Your spirit's bitter depths are there to see. ...
Late autumns, winters, spring-times steeped in mud, anaesthetizing seasons! You I praise, and love for so enveloping my heart and brain in vaporous shrouds, in sepulchres of rain.
Autumn's last days, winters and mud-soaked spring I praise the stupefaction that you bring By so enveloping my heart and brain In shroud of vapours, tomb of mist and rain. ...
A vapour seems to hide your face from view; Your mystic eye (is it green, grey, or blue?) Tender by turns, dreamy or merciless, Reflects the heavens' pallid indolence. ...
Agatha, tell me, could your heart take flight From this black city, from this filthy sea Off to some other sea, where splendour might Burst blue and clear-a new virginity?...
You are a lovely autumn sky, rose-clear! But sadness is flowing in me like the sea, And leaves on my sullen lip, as it disappears, of its bitter slime the painful memory.