The Day After, Poem by Charles Cros

To Henri Mercier.

With flowers, with women,
With absinthe, with fire,
One can amuse oneself a little,
Play one’s part in some drama.

Absinthe drunk on a winter evening
Lights up green the smoke-filled soul,
And flowers, on the beloved,
Perfume the air before the bright fire.

Then kisses lose their charms,
Having lasted a few seasons.
The mutual betrayals
Make one leave one day without tears.

One burns letters and bouquets
And the fire spreads to the alcove,
And, if the sad life is saved,
There remain absinthe and its hiccups.

The portraits are devoured by flames;
The clenched fingers are trembling…
One dies from having slept too long
With flowers, with women.

Charles Cros

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