December, Poem by Emile Verhaeren

Poem by Emile Verhaeren Period 19th century

(The hosts)

– Open, you people, open the door,
I knock at the threshold and the awning,
open, you people, I am the wind,
who dresses in dead leaves.

– Come in, sir, come in, wind,
here is for you the chimney
and its whitewashed niche;
come into our home, Mister Wind.

– Open, you people, I am the rain,
I am the widow in a gray dress
whose weave fades away,
in a fog the color of soot.

– Come in, widow, come into our home,
come in, cold and livid one,
the cracks in the damp wall
open to lodge you in our home.

– Lift, you people, the iron bar,
open, you people, I am the snow,
my white cloak crumbles
on the roads of old winter.

– Come in, snow, come in, lady,
with your lily petals
and sow them through the hovel
even into the hearth where the flame lives.

For we are the unsettling people
who inhabit the North of deserted regions,
who love you – say, since what times? –
for the sorrows we have suffered because of you.

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-december-emile-verhaeren/