Here Is the Death of the Sky…

Poem by Théodore Agrippa D'Aubigné Period 16th century

ere is the death of the sky in its dolorous throes
That blackens its mouth and makes its eyes bleed.
The sky groans with panting, all its sinews draw back,
Its lungs breathe without ceasing, ever nearer.
The sun clothes in black the fair gold of its fires,
The fair eye of this world is deprived of its eyes;
The soul of so many flowers is no longer unfolded,
There is no more life at the source of life:
And, as a human body lies dead, struck down,
As soon as it is wounded by the least blow to the heart,
So must the world both die and come to ruin
At the least wound to the sun, the heart of the world.
The moon loses the silver of its clear, white hue,
The moon turns upward its face of blood;
Every star is dying: the faithful prophets
Of destiny shall suffer eternal eclipses.
Everything hides in fear: fire flies into the air,
Air into water, water into earth; in the funeral mingling
All beauty loses its color.

Théodore Agrippa d’Aubigné

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

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