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Ex imo.
….. It was in the beloved town,
Sarcophagus for me of my earliest memories,
Where, as a small child, in my enraptured soul,
I had dreamed those mad joys that remain desires!
It was there… that one afternoon, in a street,
Which an August sun, with its dense light,
Struck the white deserted pavement, ? that she passed by,
And that within me, in her steps, all my heart rushed forth!
She passed by, charming beyond belief,
For they call her ugly here, ? stupid folk!
White tunic in the wind over a black dress,
She was for my games like an elegant vase
Inlaid with ebony and ivory!
I followed her… ? Did your heart not whisper to you
That someone was following you, innocent divine,
And placed… placed, step by step,
His boot where your little boot fell?…
Who knows? God perhaps sculpted you for love,
O slender human vase, poised on your base!
Why then are you not, O Vase!
The urn of this dead heart that you made beat one day!
August 1875.
Jules Barbey d’Aurevilly
Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-at-valognes-jules-barbey-d-aurevilly/