"Each bird that lights and twitters is a friend."

APRES TROIS ANS
by Paul Verlaine

When I had pushed the narrow garden-door,
Once more I stood within the green retreat;
Softly the morning sunshine lighted it,
And every flow'r a humid spangle wore.

Nothing is changed. I see it all once more:
The vine-clad arbor with its rustic seat. . . .
The waterjet still plashes silver sweet,
The ancient aspen rustles as of yore.

The roses throb as in a bygone day,
As they were wont, the tall proud lilies sway.
Each bird that lights and twitters is a friend.

I even found the Flora standing yet,
Whose plaster crumbles at the alley's end,
--Slim, 'mid the foolish scent of mignonette.


Poems of Paul Verlaine, translated by Gertrude Hall.

The Triumph of Flora, Master of Flora, c.1560. Image from Web Gallery of Art.

(I'll be away from the blog for a couple of days. I hope this second helping of bittersweet Verlaine will entertain you until I get back. See you soon.)