Evenings, Poem by Henry Bataille

Poem by Henry Bataille Period 19th century

There are great evenings when the villages die
After the pigeons have gone back to bed.
They die, gently, with the sound of the hour
And the blue cry of the swallows at the bell tower…
Then, to watch over them, lights are lit,
Little old lights of good nuns,
And lanterns pass, over there in the mist…
Far off the gray path walks on softly…
The flowers in the gardens have curled up,
To listen to their village of old die,
For they know that is where they were born…
Then the lights go out, while
The old familiar walls have given up the ghost,
All soft, all simply, like old women.

Henry Bataille

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-evenings-henry-bataille/