The Seven Swords

Poem by Guillaume Apollinaire Collection AlcoolsThemes Love, SadnessPeriod 20th century

The first is made all of silver
And her trembling name is Pâline
Her blade a snowing winter sky
Her destiny bloody Ghibelline
Vulcan died forging her

The second, named Noubosse
Is a lovely joyful rainbow
The gods use it at their weddings
She killed thirty Bé-Rieux
And was gifted by Carabosse

The third, feminine blue
Is none the less a chibriape
Called Lul de Faltenin
And which Hermes Ernest turned dwarf
Carries upon a tablecloth

The fourth, Malourène
Is a green and golden river
It is evening when the riverside women
Bathe their adored bodies there
And rowers’ songs trail along

The fifth, Sainte-Fabeau
Is the most beautiful of distaffs
It is a cypress on a tomb
Where the four winds kneel
And each night it is a torch

The sixth, metal of glory
Is the friend with such gentle hands
Who separates us each morning
Farewell, there is your path
The roosters exhausted themselves in fanfares

And the seventh exhausts herself
A woman, a dead rose
Thank you, may the last to come
Close the door on my love
I have never known you

Guillaume Apollinaire

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-seven-swords-guillaume-apollinaire/