VEF Blog

gladys-lemire le 28-08-2023 à 17:54:59



A poet is gone; on his closed grave

Not a song, not a word in this beloved language

Whose divine sweetness here below intoxicated him.

Alone, a poor sad tree with pale greenery,

The willow he dreamed of, in the evening wind, whispers

Over his weeping shadow a tender and long regret.


forget it


It is not oblivion; we repeat again,

Poet of love, these songs that hatched

In your bewildered soul an eternal torment,

And time without pity which breaks from its wing

Many laurels, the Time of a new grace

Crown by moving away your charming memory.


forget it


You were the pampered child of the century. your whims

found us indulgent. We were accomplices

Of your young deviations; you could dare anything.

From the Muse for you we knew the tenderness,

And our charmed looks counted his caresses.

From her first smile to her last kiss.