All Week Long, Poem by Charles Cros

Poem by Charles Cros Collection The Sandalwood CasketPeriod 19th century

Here: the end of the half-day is near;
And one works well while waiting for the bell.
Eleven o’clock. The workshop empties in a crowd.
The worker goes to eat, and perhaps to make
Acquaintance with that child, a frail working girl,
At the smoky caterer’s where the ordinary fare is served.
But the apprentice has no such luxuries. With
A flat sausage and two sous’ worth of dry bread
He dines; provided he finds on the square
Your limpid water to drink, O Wallace fountains!

Charles Cros

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-all-week-long-charles-cros/