Daily Poem: Harvests ~ Paul Verlaine
Harvests
(To Georges Rall)
~ Paul Verlaine
Translated from French by Martin Sorrell
The things that sing in the head
When memory’s absent.
Listen, it’s the singing of our blood. . .
Such distant music, so discreet.
Listen, it’s the crying of our blood
When our soul’s taken flight,
A voice unheard before,
Soon to go quiet.
Blood-brother of rosy vines
Brother of the black vein’s wine,
Apotheosis of blood and wine!
Sing, cry. Send memory packing,
See off the soul. Let’s hypnotize
Our poor bones into nothingness.
