Banality, Poem by Charles Cros

The ocean of silver covers everything
With its encrusting tide.
We dreamed to the very end
Of an uncle’s or an aunt’s legacy.

Nothing comes. Our brain seethes
In the Ideal, a fire that tempts us,
And we die. There remain standing
Those who set the course of the annuity.

Stifled under the heavy metals
That burned away all hope,
My heart makes a noise of hammers.

Gold, silver, kings of indifference
Melted, then cold, have covered over
The lilies of the valley and the green grass.

Charles Cros

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

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