The Inn, Poem by Paul Verlaine

Poem by Paul Verlaine Collection Jadis et naguèreThemes HappinessPeriod 19th century

White walls, red roof, it’s the Inn fresh at the edge
Of the great dusty road where the foot burns and bleeds,
The gay Inn with Happiness for a sign.
Blue wine, tender bread, and no need of a passport.

Here one smokes, here one sings, here one sleeps.
The host is an old soldier, and the hostess, who combs
And washes ten pink brats full of ringworm,
Speaks of love, of joy and ease, and is not wrong!

The room with black beamed ceiling, with violent
Images, Maleck Adel and the Magi,
Welcomes you with a good smell of cabbage soup.

Do you hear? It’s the pot accompanied
By the clock’s tick-tock merry with its pulse.
And the window opens in the distance onto the countryside.

Paul Verlaine

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-the-inn-paul-verlaine/