To M. de Régnier

Poem by Alfred De Musset Collection New PoemsPeriod 19th century

(After the death of his daughter.)

What then is this sorrow that concerns me so?
We had known each other only through wit;
We had only laughed, and talked but a moment,
When his liveliness nudged my idleness.

Then I would go by chance to the theater, smoking,
When the old boldness of the master of us all,
Sharpening finesse with his caustic verve,
Gaily transformed him into Pancrace or Scapin.

Why then, by what right, knowing him scarcely,
Do I stop and cannot take a step,
Learning that his daughter died in his arms?

I do not know. — God knows! In the poor human soul
The best thought is always uncertain,
But a tear falls and is not mistaken.

Alfred De Musset

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

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