The Little Virgin, Poem by Emile Verhaeren

Poem by Emile Verhaeren Period 19th century

The little Virgin Mary
Passes through the meadow on May evenings,
Her light feet brushing the mists,
Her two feet white as two feathers.

She goes like an infanta,
Bodice straight, skirts puffed out,
With, at her waist, a shifting sound
And clear, of a silver rosary.

On both banks of the river
Hollyhocks grow in clumps,
But the Virgin, from bank to bank,
Seeks only the royal lilies
That rise at the water’s edge
Like flaming swords.

And then seizes between her fingers,
A little stiff from age-old starch,
An insect sleeping, wings emerald,
At the heart of fertilized plants.

And with her gentle hand, at last,
Unfastens a goat grazing
At its tether, by the roadside,
And softly kisses and caresses it
And gently leads it on a leash.

Then, the little Virgin Mary
Comes to find the old linden tree in the meadow,
Whose branches like trophies
Conceal a thousand legends,

And, humble, finally offers these three gifts,
Under the great tree, to the good fairies,
Who once, in the time of wondrous lordships,
Were like her too
The good ladies of the meadow.

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-the-little-virgin-emile-verhaeren/