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Murmur around my little boat,
Sweet sea whose cherished waves,
Like a faithful lover,
Cast an eternal complaint
Over these poetic ruins.
How I love to float on your wave,
At the hour when from the top of the rock
The orange tree, the fertile vine,
Pour over your deep wave
A shade favorable to the boatman!
Often, in my boat without oars,
Entrusting myself to your love,
As if to lull my soul,
I close at the rocking of your blade
My eyes weary of the day.
Like a supple and docile steed
Whose bridle one lets float,
Always, toward some fresh refuge,
You push my fragile boat
With the foam of your shores.
Ah! rock, rock, rock again,
Rock for the last time,
Rock this child who adores you,
And who since his tender dawn
Has dreamed only of wave and woods!
The God who adorned the world
With your graceful element,
So that here all may answer,
Made the skies to shine on the wave,
The wave to reflect the skies.
As pure as in my eyelid,
The day penetrates your pure wave,
And in your brilliant course
You seem to roll the light
With your waves of gold and azure.
As free as thought,
You break the vessel of kings,
And in your mad anger,
Faithful to the God who launched you,
You stop only at his voice.
Sublime image of infinity,
From wave to wave the eye carried away
Follows you in vain from shore to shore,
The mind seeks in vain your shore,
Like those of eternity.
Your voice majestic and sweet
Makes the echo of your shores tremble,
Or on the grass that repels you,
Like the zephyr in the moss,
Murmurs dying chords.
How I love you, O supple wave,
When, under my timid vessel,
Like a giant who humbles himself,
Under this vain weight the wave that bends
Hollows for me a liquid cradle.
How I love you when, the zephyr
Asleep in your fresh caves,
Your shore seems to smile
To see in your bosom that it admires
Float the shadow of its forests!
How I love you when on my stern
Garlands of a thousand colors,
Hanging in the wind that cuts them,
Crown you like a cup
Whose edges are veiled with flowers!
How sweet it is, when the wind caresses
Your softly agitated breast,
To see, under my hand that presses it,
Your wave, which swells and falls
Like the breast of beauty!
Come, to my fleeting boat
Come give the farewell kiss;
Roll around a plaintive voice,
And with the foam of your shore
Wet still my forehead and my eyes.
Let on your mobile plain
Float my little boat at its will,
Or under the cave of the sibyl,
Or on the tomb of Virgil:
Each of your waves is sacred to me.
Everywhere, on your cherished shore,
Where love awakened my heart,
My soul, at its tender sight,
Finds a refuge, a homeland,
And from the ruins of its happiness,
Floats at random: on whatever shore
You make me drift,
Each wave brings me an image;
Each rock of your shore
Makes me remember or dream…
Alphonse de Lamartine
Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.
Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-farewell-to-the-sea-alphonse-de-lamartine/