The Singing Serviceberry Branch, Poem by Charles-Nérée Beauchemin

Poem by Charles-Nérée Beauchemin Collection Patrie intimePeriod 19th century

I have quite unlearned it,
The lullaby of drifting rhythm,
That sheds its leaves, on breezy evenings,
From the singing serviceberry branch.

From the bough that a breath sways,
The miraculous song,
To the memory of my childhood,
Has imparted its shiver.

The music of the air, without rhyme,
Glides into my dream, and, very often,
I try to note down what expresses
The song of the leaf and the wind.

I wait for the breeze to take up again
The note where a sweet past trembles,
So that my heart, despite its sorrow,
One day, one hour, may be lulled by it.

No echo sends it back to me,
The lullaby of the other day,
Neither the hills of joy,
Nor the hills of love.

The wind-born branch is dead;
And the mysterious rhythms
That the wind sighs at my door,
Swell the heart, moisten the eyes.

The poet in melancholy
Weeps for being no longer a child,
To hear your pretty song,
O singing serviceberry branch!

Charles-Nérée Beauchemin

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-singing-serviceberry-branch-charles-neree-beauchemin/