summer afternoon

Seeing delightful things, hearing sweet sounds,
since a man becomes sad even though they please him:
Surely, he remembers in his heart something he is yet
unaware of,
– friendships in another life, whose emotion is constant.

See, shy one, the Sun
hanging in the West has made
With his long image in the water of the lake
a causeway as of gold.

The Moon, combing the darkness with his beams,
as if with his fingers the massy hair of night,
Seems to kiss her face
whose eyes – the lotuses – have closed into their buds…

Kalidasa

soleils couchants

Spilled through the meadow by
An enfeebled dawn,
The melancholy
Of setting suns.
Melancholy
Rocks my heart to oblivion
With sweet melody
Amid setting suns.
And strange dreams
Like suns, setting,
Ruddy phantoms
Over shores, passing
Unceasingly, passing like some
Huge suns, like them
Over shores, setting.

Paul Verlaine