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Oh these broad fair days whose mornings blaze!
The ardent and proud earth is even more superb
And awakened life has so strong a fragrance
That all being is intoxicated and leaps toward joy.
Be thanked, my eyes,
For having stayed so clear beneath my already old brow,
To see afar the light move and vibrate;
And you, my hands, for trembling in the sun;
And you, my fingers, for gilding yourselves on vermilion fruits
Hanging along the wall, near the hollyhocks.
Be thanked, my body,
For being firm, swift, and still quivering
At the touch of quick winds or deep breezes;
And you, my straight torso and my broad lungs,
For breathing, along the seas or on the mountains,
The radiant and keen air that bathes and bites the worlds,
Oh these mornings of celebration and calm beauty!
Roses whose dew adorns pure faces,
Birds come toward us like white omens,
Gardens of massive shadow or fragile clarity!
At the hour when ample summer warms the avenues,
I love you, paths, by which she came
Who concealed, between her hands, my fate;
I love you, distant marshes and austere woods,
And beneath my feet, to the very depths, I love the earth
Where my dead rest.
I exist in all that surrounds me and penetrates me.
Thick lawns, lost paths, clumps of beeches,
Lucid water that no shadow comes to tarnish,
You become myself being my memory.
My life, infinitely, in all of you prolongs itself,
I form and I become all that was my dream;
In the vast horizon with which my eye is dazzled,
Trees shivering with gold, you are my pride;
My will, like the knots in your bark,
In days of firm and healthy work, hardens my strength.
When you brush my brow, roses of clear gardens,
True kisses of flame illuminate my flesh;
All is caress, ardor, beauty, shudder, madness to me,
I am drunk with the world and I multiply myself
So strongly in all that radiates and dazzles me
That my heart falters and delivers itself in cries.
Oh these leaps of fervor, deep, powerful, and tender
As if some immense wing lifted you,
If you have felt them reaching toward the infinite,
Man, do not complain, even in bad times;
Whatever misfortune takes you as prey,
Tell yourself that one day, in a supreme instant,
You tasted nonetheless, with beating heart,
The sweet and formidable joy,
And that your soul, hallucinating your eyes
To the point of mingling your being with the unanimous forces,
During that unique day and that sublime hour,
Made you like the Gods.
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-joy-emile-verhaeren/