Woke up this morning and thought about Alphonse de Lamartine's "The Lake," which I have posted before. So, two other poems, "Butterfly" and "Memory"
Posted by kluciole at 5/1/2010 11:58 AM 
Categories: Cultures, History, Literature, Writing, Metaphysical, love, Hope
Categories: Cultures, History, Literature, Writing, Metaphysical, love, Hope
Sometimes, only one person is missing, and the whole world seems depopulated. -- Alphonse de Lamartine
Image: HERE
(born Oct. 21, 1790, Mâcon, France — died Feb. 28, 1869, Paris) French poet and statesman. After brief military service under Louis XVIII, he turned to literature, writing verse tragedies and elegies. He is chiefly remembered for his successful first collection of poetry, the musical, evocative Méditations poétiques (1820), which established him as a key figure in French Romanticism. From 1830 he was active in politics, speaking for the working classes. After France's Second Republic was proclaimed in 1848, he briefly headed the provisional government until the revolution was crushed. In later years he published novels, poetry, and historical works in a vain struggle against bankruptcy.
V. Butterfly
Alphonse de Lamartine
translated by Geoffrey Barto
To be born with
the spring, and with the roses die,
On the wing of the breeze swim through the sky so pure,
Balanced on the breast of flowers barely
closed,
Drinking in their
perfumes, the light and the blue sky,
Shaking off, still so young, the dust upon its wings,
Flying off like a breath to the eternal vault,
This is the butterfly's enchanted destiny!
It's like the desire that is never addressed,
And left unsatisfied, should it brush against
anything,
Returns in the end to
the sky, seeking its sensual pleasure.
IX. Memory
Alphonse de Lamartine
translated by Geoffrey Barto
In vain day
follows day,
They slip by, leave
no trace;
Nothing can erase you
from my soul,
O last dream of
love!
I see my rapid years
Building up behind me,
As the old oak tree
Sees fall its faded leaves.
My forehead is bleached by time;
My chilled blood barely flows,
Like the wave that is carried
By the south wind's cold breath.
But your young and shining image,
That regret comes to embellish,
In my breast shall never grow old:
Like the soul it has no age.
No, you haven't left my eyes;
And when my solitary gaze
Ceased to see you on the earth,
Suddenly I saw you in the sky.
There you still appear to me
As you were that last day
When toward your celestial journey
You flew off with the dawn.
Your pure and touching beauty
Has followed you even into the sky;
Your eyes, where life was fading,
A ray of immortality!
From the breeze your love-filled breath
Still support you long hair;
On your breast, ondulating waves
Fall in ebony tresses.
The shadow of this uncertain veil
Softens still your image,
As dawn which lets go
Of its last veils of morning.
From the sun the celestial flame
With the days returns and flees;
But my love has no night,
And you shine always upon my soul.
It's you I hear, I see,
In the desert, in the clouds;
The wave reflects your image;
The breeze brings me your voice.
While the earth sleeps,
If I hear the sighing of the wind,
I believe I've heard you murmur
Sacred words in my ear.
If I admire these scattered fires
Sprinkled across the veil of night,
I believe I see you in every star
Most pleasing to my sight.
And if the breath of the breeze
Leaves me drunken with the perfume
Of flowers in its sweetest odors
It's your breath that I inhale.
It's your hand that dries my tears,
When I go, sad and alone,
To let my prayer go forth in secret
Near my consoling altars.
When I sleep, you watch in shadow,
Your wings rest upon me;
All my dreams come from you,
Sweet as the gaze of a shadow.
During my sleep, if your hand
Undid the thread of my days
From the celestial side of my soul
I would go to awaken in your breast.
Like two rays of dawn,
Like two sighs mixt together,
Our two souls no longer form
But one soul, and yet I sigh.
Drawn from Poetic Meditations
Copyright Geoffrey Barto, 2002
Copyright Geoffrey Barto, 2002
HERE
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