Sadness, Poem by Alphonse De Lamartine

The sad soul is like
The gentle sky of night,
When the star that sleeps
From the vermilion vault
Has let its sound fall;

Purer and more sonorous,
There we see in its wake
A thousand stars blossom,
Which in the bright dawn
We had not suspected there!

Isles of light
Brighter than here,
And worlds behind,
And waves of dust
That are worlds too!

We hear in space
The mysterious choirs
Either of heaven giving thanks,
Or of the angel passing,
Or of the pious man!

And pure sparks
From our fiery souls,
The mortal prayers
On their burning wings
Lift us up a little!

Sadness that floods me,
Flow then from my eyes,
Flow like that wave
In which the fertile earth
Sees a gift from the heavens!

And do not accuse the hour
That brings you back to God!
Whether it is born or dies,
Man must weep
Either for exile, or for farewell!

Alphonse de Lamartine

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-sadness-alphonse-de-lamartine/