As Every Evening, Poem by Emile Verhaeren

Poem by Emile Verhaeren Period 19th century

The old toad of the murky night
Toward the moon of gall and gold,
It is he, over there, in the reeds,
The dreary mouth at the water’s brim,
Who croaks.

Over there, in the reeds,
Those eyes immensely open
On the midnights of the universe,
It is he, in the reeds,
The old toad of my sobs.

When the stains of stellar poisons
Bite the lead of the horizons
– Listen, iron scrapes through the expanse –
It is he, that ever-heard voice,
Over there in the reeds.

Monotonous, at the water’s brim,
Monotonous, like hinges,
Monotonous, the sounds go by
Monotonous, through the autumns.

The nights are not long enough
For the diphthongs to run dry,
All the same, of these sounds,
That brush against each other like hinges.

Nor the nor’easters strident enough,
Nor the winters biting enough
With their triple row of teeth,
Frost, rime and snow,
So that no longer in procession rise
The lamentable lamentos
Of the old toad of my sobs.

Emile Verhaeren

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-as-every-evening-emile-verhaeren/