In the House Where Our Love Chose to Be Born

Poem by Emile Verhaeren Period 19th century

In the house where our love chose to be born,
With the dear furniture peopling the shadow and the corners,
Where we live as two, having as sole witnesses
The roses that watch us through the windows.

There are chosen days, of such sweet comfort,
And summer hours, so beautiful in their silence,
That I sometimes stop time as it sways,
In the oak clock, with its golden disc.

Then the hour, the day, the night are so truly ours
That the happiness brushing past us hears nothing more,
Save the beating of your heart and mine
That a sudden embrace brings close to one another.

Emile Verhaeren

Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.

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