Almanac, Poem by Charles Cros

The little girls have grown so tall,
The ones we bounced upon our hands!
How many ashes have gone cold!
See, the jasmines bloom again.

There is a charm in tomorrows,
A rocking comfort in illnesses.
The roses lose their carmine hues
But remain noble ladies still.

Without being rich or strong,
One gently waits for death
While gazing at the sky full of stars.

But stifling words come along;
We shall leave the dear children
Given over to vague disasters.

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-almanac-charles-cros/