lundi 22 décembre 2014

Locksley Hall (fragment)

Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks
the sandy tracts,
And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into
cataracts.

Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere
I went to rest,
Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to
the West.

Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the
mellow shade,
Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a
silver braid.

Here about the beach I wander'd, nourishing
a youth sublime
With the fairy tales of science, and the long
result of Time ;

When the centuries behind me like a fruitful
land reposed ;
When I clung to all the present for the promise
that it closed :

When I dipt into the future far as human eye
could see ;
Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder
that would be. -

In the Spring, a fuller crimson comes upon the
robin's breast ;
In the Spring the wanton lapwing gets himself
another crest ;

In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the
burnish'd dove ;
In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns
to thoughts of love.

Then her cheek was pale and thinner than
should be for one so young,
And her eyes on all my motions with a mute
observance hung.

And I said, 'My cousin Amy, speak, and speak
the truth to me,
Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being
sets to thee.'

On her pallid cheek and forehead came a colour
and a light,
As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the
northern night.

And she turn'd - her bosom shaken with a
sudden storm of sighs -
All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of
hazel eyes -

Saying, 'I have hid my feelings, fearing they
should do me wrong ;'
Saying, 'Dost thou love me, cousin ?' weeping,
'I have loved thee long.'

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on
all the chords with might ;
Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd
in music out of sight.

Many a morning on the moorland did we hear
the copses ring,
And her whisper throng'd my pulses with the
fulness of the Spring.

Many an evening by the waters did we watch
the stately ships,
And our spirits rush'd together at the touching
of the lips.

O my cousin, shallow-hearted ! O my Amy,
mine no more !
O the dreary, dreary moorland ! O the barren,
barren shore !

Alfred Lord TENNYSON, Poems (1842)

samedi 20 décembre 2014

SYRTES

Dans l' âtre brûlent les tisons,
Les tisons noirs aux flammes roses ;
Dehors hurlent les vents moroses,
Les vents des vilaines saisons.
Contre les chenets roux de rouille,
Mon chat frotte son maigre dos.
En les ramages des rideaux,
On dirait un essaim qui grouille :

C' est le passé, c' est le passé
Qui pleure la tendresse morte ;
C' est le bonheur que l' heure emporte
Qui chante sur un ton lassé.
 
Jean MOREAS, Syrtes,Remembrance. 

Ecoutez la chanson bien douce

Ecoutez la chanson bien douce
Qui ne pleure que pour vous plaire,
Elle est discrète, elle est légère :
Un frisson d'eau sur de la mousse !

La voix vous fut connue (et chère ?)
Mais à présent elle est voilée
Comme une veuve désolée,
Pourtant comme elle encore fière,

Et dans les longs plis de son voile,
Qui palpite aux brises d'automne.
Cache et montre au coeur qui s'étonne
La vérité comme une étoile.

Elle dit, la voix reconnue,
Que la bonté c'est notre vie,
Que de la haine et de l'envie
Rien ne reste, la mort venue.

Elle parle aussi de la gloire
D'être simple sans plus attendre,
Et de noces d'or et du tendre
Bonheur d'une paix sans victoire.

Accueillez la voix qui persiste
Dans son naïf épithalame.
Allez, rien n'est meilleur à l'âme
Que de faire une âme moins triste !

Elle est en peine et de passage,
L'âme qui souffre sans colère,
Et comme sa morale est claire !...
Ecoutez la chanson bien sage.

Paul VERLAINE, Sagesse.

mardi 9 décembre 2014

The Brook

I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel.

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows ;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars ;
I loiter round my cresses ;

And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

Alfred Lord TENNYSON, Maud and other Poems (1900)