Ballad of the Last Love, Poem by Charles Cros

Poem by Charles Cros Collection The Sandalwood CasketPeriod 19th century

My memories are so numerous
That my reason cannot suffice for them.
Yet I live only through them,
They alone make me weep and laugh.
The present is bloody and black;
In the future, what have I to pursue?
Cool calm of tombs, evening!…
I hastened to live too much.

Loves happy or unhappy,
Heavy regrets, worse satiety,
Velvety dark eyes, bright blue eyes,
With gazes that cannot be told,
Hair drowning the comb
Gold, ebony or copper in hue,
I wanted to see all, to have all.
I hastened to live too much.

I am weary. No more love. I want
To live alone, for myself alone to describe
Even the scent of your hair,
Even the flash of your smile,
To tell your royal nonchalance,
To summon you entire in a book
Pure and true as your mirror.
I hastened to live too much.

ENVOI

My song, vapor of a censer,
Dear flight, will go to follow you.
In your arms I hoped to be able
To await the hour that delivers;
You took my turn. Farewell.
I hastened to live too much.

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-ballad-of-the-last-love-charles-cros/