In Bad Weather, Poem by Alfred De Musset

She has worn, since I’ve loved her
(For a long time, perhaps forever),
Many dresses, never the same;
Palmire must have counted the days.

But when you came back,
Your light arm on mine,
It was, in that avenue,
Bitterly cold, foul weather.

You loved me a little, my fair angel,
And while you chattered,
In that rain and that mire
Your dear little feet got wet.

Did she think, your slender leg,
When you spoke of our loves,
That she would carry beneath the ermine
The satin, the gold and the velvet?

If ever my heart disavows
What it felt in that moment,
May the mud leap to my brow
Where you walked so bravely!

Alfred De Musset

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

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