POEMS
LEGEND
Go say to my beloved Island, down there,
Beside the sombre Foulc marsh, in the heath,
That I'll come to her this evening, to wait,
That when the moon rises she'll hear my step.
You'll find her with her feet under the hulls,
Her hair fallen down and her eyes half-closed,
Naive, holding one hand over her mouth
So as not to waken the sleeping birds.
The marshes are all imbued with legend,
Like the sky you discover in her eyes,
When they drink the good moon over the heath
Or the sad winds come down from high places.
Tell her I've spent marvelous dawns lying
In wait for birds coming back from the north,
So close to her, shivering and stretched out
At my feet, a little sleeping savage.
Tell her it's near the end of September
Here, that winters are hard in these lost lands,
That through the open window of my room
Medleys of flowers are always in bloom.
Announce me as a prophet, as a prince,
As a king's son from beyond the sea, say
That perfumes inundate my provinces,
And that the Highlands suffer no winter.
Tell her balconies here will be in bloom,
That she will bathe in ponds without fever,
But I'd wish to see in her darkened eyes
The savage secret that dies on the lips,
The enigma of a purely transparent
Look, that sometimes flashes with the lightning
Of great initiates in games of the mind,
And large sea-birds under deserted skies.
211
PATRICE DE LA
TouR Du
PIN
