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THE LOVE POEMS
OF
ÉMILE VERHAEREN
TRANSLATED BY
F. S. FLINT
LONDON
CONSTABLE AND COMPANY LTD.
1916
À CELLE QUI VIT À MES CÔTÉS
CONTENTS
THE SHINING HOURS I. O the splendour of our joy II. Although we saw this bright garden III. This barbaric capital, whereon monsters writhe IV. The sky has unfolded into night V. Each hour I brood upon your goodness VI. Sometimes you wear the kindly grace VII. Oh! let the passing hand VIII. As in the simple ages IX. Young and kindly spring X. Come with slow steps XI. How readily delight is aroused in her XII. At the time when I had long suffered XIII.
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href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@45470@[email protected]#XIII" class="pginternal" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">And what matters the wherefores XIV. In my dreams, I sometimes pair you XV. I dedicate to your tears XVI. I drown my entire soul in your two eyes XVII. To love with our eyes XVIII. In the garden of our love XIX. May your bright eyes, your eyes of summer XX. Tell me, my simple and tranquil sweetheart XXI. During those hours wherein we are lost XXII. Oh! this happiness, sometimes so rare XXIII. Let us, in our love and ardour XXIV. So soon as our lips touch XXV. To prevent the escape of any part of us XXVI. Although autumn this evening XXVII.
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class="pginternal" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">The gift of the body when the soul is given XXVIII. Was there in us one fondness XXIX. The lovely garden blossoming with flames XXX. If it should ever happen that THE HOURS OF AFTERNOON I. Step by step, day by day II. Roses of June, you the fairest III. If other flowers adorn the house IV. The darkness is lustral V. I bring you this evening, as an offering VI. Let us both sit down on the old worm-eaten bench VII. Gently, more gently still VIII. In the house chosen by our love IX. The pleasant task with the window open X. In the depth of our love dwells all faith XI.
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href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@45470@[email protected]#XIb" class="pginternal" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">Dawn, darkness, evening, space and the stars XII. This is the holy hour when the lamp is lit XIII. The dead kisses of departed years XIV. For fifteen years XV. I thought our joy benumbed for ever XVI. Everything that lives about us XVII. Because you came one day XVIII. On days of fresh and tranquil health XIX. Out of the groves of sleep I came XX. Alas! when the lead of illness XXI. Our bright garden is health itself XXII. It was June in the garden XXIII. The gift of yourself XXIV. Oh! the calm summer garden where nothing moves! XXV.
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class="pginternal" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">As with others, an hour has its ill-humour XXVI. The golden barks of lovely summer XXVII. Ardour of senses, ardour of hearts XXVIII. The still beauty of summer evenings XXIX. You said to me, one evening XXX. "Hours of bright morning" THE HOURS OF EVENING I. Dainty flowers, like a froth of foam II. If it were true that a garden flower III. The wistaria is faded and the hawthorn dead IV. Draw up your chair near mine V. Be once more merciful and cheering to us, light VI. Alas! the days of the crimson phlox VII. The evening falls, the moon is golden VIII. When your hand IX.
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href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@45470@[email protected]#IXc" class="pginternal" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">And now that the lofty leaves have fallen X. When the starry sky covers our dwelling XI. With the same love that you were for me XII. The flowers of bright welcome XIII. When the fine snow with its sparkling grains XIV. If fate has saved us from commonplace errors XV. No, my heart has never tired of you XVI. How happy we are still XVII. Shall we suffer, alas! the dead weight of the years XVIII. The small happenings, the thousand nothings XIX. Come even to our threshold XX. When our bright garden was gay XXI. With my old hands lifted to your forehead XXII. If our hearts have burned XXIII.
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href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@45470@[email protected]#XXIIIc" class="pginternal" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">In this rugged winter XXIV. Perhaps, when my last day comes XXV. Oh! how gentle are your hands XXVI. When you have closed my eyes to the light