Waltz, Poem by Charles Cros

Far from the ball, in the damp park
The lilacs were already blooming;
He pressed me in his arms.
How foolish one is at the timid age!

On a triumphant evening
In the park, far from the ball,
He told me this blasphemy:
“I love you!”

Then I went every evening,
White in the dark wood,
To see him again,
He my hope, my supreme
Hope.

Far from the ball in the damp park
How foolish one is at the timid age!

In the ardent waltz he carries you away,
Blonde fiancée with green eyes;
He will die from the perverse gaze,
I, from his love I am dead.

On a triumphant evening
In the park, far from the ball
He told me this blasphemy:
“I love you!”

Never to see him again…
Now everything is black;
To die this evening
Is my hope, my supreme
Hope.

In the ardent waltz he carries her away,
I am forgotten and dead.

Perpetual era,
Cuneiform inscriptions,
You contained the truth;
One strolled under elms,
Laughing at the summer scents;

Sardanapalus had enormous
Riches, a tamed people,
Women with the most beautiful forms,
And his empire is swept away!

Swept away by the vulgar wind
Brought by purveyors, merchants,
To find gold in war.

Glory in gold hardly lasts;
The poet sows songs
That will always be reborn on earth.

Charles Cros

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-waltz-charles-cros/