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On the old bridge green with moss,
And all eaten away by russet lichens,
Two lovers spoke in gentle voices:
And it was us!
He, leaning tenderly toward her,
Told her of the love and the faith
That he bore in his faithful heart;
And it was me!
She seemed, pale, uncertain,
Trembling and yet without fear,
To listen to a distant voice;
And it was you!
On the old bridge, always the same,
Two lovers have made a tryst:
He tells her, she believes, that he loves her;
It is no longer us!
Auguste Angellier
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-old-bridge-auguste-angellier/