Clock! sinister god, frightening, impassive,
Whose finger threatens us and says: ” Remember!
The vibrant Sorrows in your heart full of dread
Will soon be planted there as in a target,
Vaporous pleasure will flee toward the horizon
Like a sylph to the back of the stage;
Each instant devours a piece of the delight
Granted to each man for his whole season.
Three thousand six hundred times an hour, the Second
Whispers: Remember! – Swift, with its insect
Voice, Now says: I am the Past,
And I have pumped your life with my foul trunk!
Remember! Souviens-toi, prodigal! Esto memor!
(My metal throat speaks all languages.)
The minutes, heedless mortal, are ore-bearing clods
That must not be let go without extracting the gold!
Remember that Time is a greedy gambler
Who wins without cheating, every time! it is the law.
The day declines; the night increases, remember!
The abyss is always thirsty; the clepsydra empties.
Soon will sound the hour when divine Chance,
When august Virtue, your still virgin wife,
When even repentance (oh! the last inn!),
When everything will say to you: Die, old coward! it is too late! “
Charles Baudelaire
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-the-clock-charles-baudelaire/
