My Selfish Sorrow, Poem by Auguste Angellier

Poem by Auguste Angellier Collection To the Lost FriendPeriod 19th century

Must my sorrow too be selfish?
Must I at moments start, surprised,
For suffering too much for myself? — In what sad pose,
Near what window opening onto gray waters,

At whose depths a little light still resists
The black tearing of its last debris,
Do you dream, while your gaze watches
This death of day in the flower-stripped skies?

What book of grief and endured anguish
Holds its most desperate page open
Under your tear-filled eyes, between your trembling fingers?

Under what great bare trees do you drag your slow steps?
On what bench do you let your inert body fall?
In what mirror do you see your first white hairs?

Auguste Angellier

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

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