Poetry
Caught by surprise in verity, A mouth that had been drinking-down At the breast of Poetry Pulls away from its soft down: —O mother Intelligence, Whence all sweetness flows like silk, What can be this negligence Letting dry up all its milk! Scarcely upon thy belly, Overcome with pallid links, The ocean waves cradle me Of your heart full of good things; God lost within its essence, And the most deliciously Docile to the great knowledge Of appeasement most supreme, I touched the nighttide itself, No more could I ever die, For a river without let Seemed within me flowing by... Say to me, by what fear vain, By what shadow of despite, That most wonderful of veins Unto my lips has ceased quite? Rigor, unto me a sign That my soul I have displeased! Silence as of swans in flight Reigns no longer us between! Immortal one, thine eyelid Refuses me my treasures, And the flesh now stony is That under me was tender. From the very skies I’m weaned By what unjust returning? Sans my lips what would you be? What would I without love burning? But the Wellspring now apart Answered now as ever softly: —You have bitten me so hard That my heart quite ceased to beat! |
Paul Valéry