gothic song

Fair wife,
I love your tears!
It is the dew which
is becoming for flowers.

Beautiful things
have only one Spring,
let us sow the footprints
of Time with roses!

Whether brunette or blonde,
must we choose?
The God of the world
is Pleasure.

Gérard de Nerval

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golden verses

What! Everything is sentient!
Pythagoras

Man, free thinker! do you believe that you alone
think in this world where life bursts forth in everything?
Your freedom has power to use strength you possess,
but the universe is absent from all your councils.

In the beast respect an active soul:
every flower is a soul unfolded to Nature;
in metal sleeps a mystery of love;
,,Everything is sentient!’’ And everything has power over your being.

Fear a glance watching you in the blind wall:
a Word is connected even with matter. …
Do not make it serve some impious purpose!

Often in the dark being dwells a hidden God;
and, like an eye born covered by its lids,
a pure spirit grows beneath the surface of stones!

Gérard de Nerval

el desdichado

I am the shadow, the widower, the unconsoled,
the Aquitanian prince with the ruined tower;
my only star is dead, and my star-strewn lute
bears the black sun of Melancholy.

You who consoled me, in the night of the tomb,
give me back Posillipo and the Italian sea,
the flower which please my grief-stricken heart so much,
and the arbour where the vine joints with the rose.

Am I Love or Phoebus?… Lusignan or Biron?
My brow is still red from the queen’s kiss;
I have dreamed in the cave where the siren swims. …

And I have twice crossed Acheron victoriously:
tuning in turn on Orpheus’s lyre
the sighs of the saint and the fairy’s cries.

Gérard de Nerval

an alley in the Luxembourg Gardens

The young girl passed by
as lively and quick as a bird:
in her hand a shining flower,
in her mouth a new song.

She is, perhaps the only one in the world
whose heart would answer mine,
who coming into my deep night,
would light it up with a single glance.

But no, – my youth is over…
Farewell, sweet beam that shone on me, –
perfume, young girl, melody…
Happiness passed by, – it has fled!

Gérard de Nerval