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There is a name hidden in the shadow of my soul,
That I read there night and day and no eye sees there,
Like a lost ring that a woman’s hand
Let slip from her finger into the abyss of the seas.
In the ark of my heart, which opens only for him,
He sleeps buried under a key of brass;
With mystery and fear my love covers him,
As after a feast one closes a jewel box.
If you ask for it, my lip is without answer,
But, like a talisman formed of a secret word,
When alone with the echo my mouth pronounces it,
My night opens, and in my soul a being appears to me.
In dazzling day the shadow is transfigured;
Rays, escaped through the cracks of the heavens,
Color with modesty a white figure
On whom the dazzled angel dares not raise his eyes.
She is a child virgin, and who still grows;
There rains upon this morning beauties and days;
From thought to thought one sees her soul blossom,
Like her charming body from contour to contour.
A dazzlement of youth and grace
Fascinates the gaze where her charm has remained.
When she takes a step, one would say that space
Lights up and enlarges for so much majesty.
In her bronzed hair the wind never plays.
Stealing a glance that a curl interrupts,
They serpent coiled to the marble of her cheek,
Casting pensive shadow to the secrets of her brow.
Her calm complexion, veined with opal spots,
As if it trembled before passion,
Shades its freshness with the moirés of a pale lily,
Where the mouth has left its moist impression.
Serious from birth even in her smile,
She approaches life with recollection;
Her heart, deep and heavy each time it breathes,
Lifts with her breast a weight of feeling.
Supporting on her hand her tilted head,
And wrinkling the brows that cover her dark eye,
She seems to launch the lightning of her thought
To horizons that no eye can see.
As in the heart of these nights without mist and without veils,
Where in their depth the eye surprises the naked heavens,
In her beautiful child’s eyes, firmament full of stars,
I see unknown stars appear and swim.
A reflection of this soul’s splendors passes through me;
It transforms into Eden this gloomy and cold sojourn.
The dead flow of my blood quickens, and I cradle
Worlds of happiness on these waves of love.
– Oh! tell us this name, this name that makes one love;
That leaves on the lip a savor of honey!
– No, I do not say it on earth to myself;
I carry it to the tomb to embellish my heaven.
Alphonse de Lamartine
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-a-name-alphonse-de-lamartine/