Testament, Poem by Charles Cros

If my clear soul goes out
Like a lamp without oil,
If my mind, on high, fades
Like a mad rag,

If I rot, diamond-like,
Whole, without stain, without pox,
If a stupid stammering overtakes
My persuasive speech,

And if I die, drunk, in a corner
It is that my homeland is far away
Far from France and from the earth.

Fear nothing, I curse
No one. For a paradise
At dawn, opens and silences me.

Charles Cros

Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.

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