The King of Thule, Poem by Gérard de Nerval

There was a king of Thule
To whom his faithful lover
Bequeathed, as a keepsake of her,
A goblet of chased gold.

It was a treasure full of charms
In which his love was preserved:
Each time he drank from it
His eyes filled with tears.

Seeing his last days approach,
He divided his inheritance,
But he excepted from the sharing
The cup, his cherished keepsake.

He had the barons seated
At the royal table in his tower;
Standing and ranged around,
His loyal nobility shone.

Beneath the balcony the sea roared.
The old king rises in silence,
He drinks, – shudders, and his hand hurls
The golden cup into the bitter wave!

He saw it turn in the black water,
The wave, opening, made a fold,
The king bowed his pale forehead…
Never again was he seen to drink.

Gérard de Nerval

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-king-of-thule-gerard-de-nerval/