The Organ, Poem by Charles Cros

To André Gill

Under an ancient German king,
Gottlieb the musician died.
Someone nailed him under the boards.
Hoo! hoo! hoo!
The wind blows through the branches.

He died for having loved
Little Rose-of-May.
The girls are not straightforward.
Hoo! hoo! hoo!
The wind blows through the branches.

She married, one day,
Another man, without love.
“Bring back the white dresses!”
Hoo! hoo! hoo!
The wind blows through the branches.

When to the church they came,
Gottlieb was no longer at the organ,
As on the other Sundays.
Hoo! hoo! hoo!
The wind blows through the branches.

For since then, at black midnight,
In the forest he can be seen
At the season of periwinkles.
Hoo! hoo! hoo!
The wind blows through the branches.

His organ has the pines for pipes.
He frightens the little birds.
Dead loves have their revenges.
Hoo! hoo! hoo!
The wind blows through the branches

Charles Cros

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Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-the-organ-charles-cros/