Three Quatrains (Amid the Blood)

Poem by Charles Cros Collection The Sandalwood CasketPeriod 19th century

To Madame M.

Amid the blood, amid the fire,
Your limpid soul, like a blue sky,
Spreads its dew in cool words
Over our troubled hearts, dying corollas.

And we forget, at your clear gaze,
The blaze and its red banners
Floating in the night. Your pearled voice
Covers the dark cannon and the melee.

You make us see, proud angel of peace,
That horror is not on earth forever,
And that we must believe in the good wind brought
By the future, that grace is not dead.

Charles Cros

Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.

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