School for Truancy, Poem by Charles Cros

Poem by Charles Cros Collection The Collar of ClawsPeriod 19th century

My thought is a wild rose
Blooming too early in April,
Mocking the subtle midge,
My thought is a wild rose;
If sometimes its pistil trembles,
Its corolla opens roguishly.
My thought is a wild rose
Blooming too early in April.

My thought is like a thistle
Pricking beneath the violet flowers,
A little rough to sweet abandon,
My thought is like a thistle;
Are you coming to visit it, bumblebee?
My flower pleases many beasts.
My thought is like a thistle
Pricking beneath the violet flowers.

My thought is a madwoman
Who wanders among the reeds
To the songs of waters and birds,
My thought is a madwoman.
The reeds make green networks,
Lotus without stem on the waters,
My thought is a madwoman
Who wanders among the reeds.

My thought is the acrid poison
One drinks at the last feast,
Color, perfume, and betrayal,
My thought is the acrid poison,
Frail flower, purple and coquettish,
That one finds in late season,
My thought is the acrid poison
One drinks at the last feast.

My thought is a snowdrop
That grows and laughs despite the cold,
Careless of hour or place,
My thought is a snowdrop.
If its ground is very narrow,
The dead leaf protects it,
My thought is a snowdrop
That grows and laughs despite the cold.

Charles Cros

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-school-for-truancy-charles-cros/