Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


See and share Beautiful Nature Photos and amazing photos of interesting places




Best Famous Paul Eluard Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Paul Eluard poems. This is a select list of the best famous Paul Eluard poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Paul Eluard poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Paul Eluard poems.

Search for the best famous Paul Eluard poems, articles about Paul Eluard poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Paul Eluard poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See also: Best Member Poems

Go Back

by Paul Eluard |

The River

 The river I have under my tongue,
Unimaginable water, my little boat,
And curtains lowered, let's speak.


by Paul Eluard |

The Nakedness of Truth (I know it well)

 Despair has no wings,
Nor has love,
No countenance:
They do not speak.
I do not stir, I do not behold them, I do not speak to them, But I am as real as my love and my despair.


by Paul Eluard |

The Human Face

 I.
Soon Of all the springtimes of the world This one is the ugliest Of all of my ways of being To be trusting is the best Grass pushes up snow Like the stone of a tomb But I sleep within the storm And awaken eyes bright Slowness, brief time ends Where all streets must pass Through my innermost recesses So that I would meet someone I don’t listen to monsters I know them and all that they say I see only beautiful faces Good faces, sure of themselves Certain soon to ruin their masters II.
The women’s role As they sing, the maids dash forward To tidy up the killing fields Well-powdered girls, quickly to their knees Their hands -- reaching for the fresh air -- Are blue like never before What a glorious day! Look at their hands, the dead Look at their liquid eyes This is the toilet of transience The final toilet of life Stones sink and disappear In the vast, primal waters The final toilet of time Hardly a memory remains the dried-up well of virtue In the long, oppressive absences One surrenders to tender flesh Under the spell of weakness III.
As deep as the silence As deep as the silence Of a corpse under ground With nothing but darkness in mind As dull and deaf As autumn by the pond Covered with stale shame Poison, deprived of its flower And of its golden beasts out its night onto man IV.
Patience You, my patient one My patience My parent Head held high and proudly Organ of the sluggish night Bow down Concealing all of heaven And its favor Prepare for vengeance A bed where I'll be born V.
First march, the voice of another Laughing at sky and planets Drunk with their confidence The wise men wish for sons And for sons from their sons Until they all perish in vain Time burdens only fools While Hell alone prospers And the wise men are absurd VI.
A wolf Day surprises me and night scares me haunts me and winter follows me An animal walking on the snow has placed Its paws in the sand or in the mud Its paws have traveled From further afar than my own steps On a path where death Has the imprints of life VII.
A flawless fire The threat under the red sky Came from below -- jaws And scales and links Of a slippery, heavy chain Life was spread about generously So that death took seriously The debt it was paid without a thought Death was the God of love And the conquerors in a kiss Swooned upon their victims Corruption gained courage And yet, beneath the red sky Under the appetites for blood Under the dismal starvation The cavern closed The kind earth filled The graves dug in advance Children were no longer afraid Of maternal depths And madness and stupidity And vulgarity make way For humankind and brotherhood No longer fighting against life -- For an everlasting humankind VIII.
Liberty On my school notebooks On my desk, on the trees On the sand, on the snow I write your name On all the read pages On all the empty pages Stone, blood, paper or ash I write your name On the golden images On the weapons of warriors On the crown of kings I write your name On the jungle and the desert On the nests, on the broom On the echo of my childhood I write your name On the wonders of nights On the white bread of days On the seasons betrothed I write your name d'azur On all my blue rags On the sun-molded pond On the moon-enlivened lake I write your name On the fields, on the horizon On the wings of birds And on the mill of shadows I write your name On every burst of dawn On the sea, on the boats On the insane mountain I write your name On the foam of clouds On the sweat of the storm On the rain, thick and insipid I write your name On the shimmering shapes On the colorful bells On the physical truth I write your name On the alert pathways On the wide-spread roads On the overflowing places I write your name On the lamp that is ignited On the lamp that is dimmed On my reunited houses I write your name On the fruit cut in two Of the mirror and of my room On my bed, an empty shell I write your name On my dog, young and greedy On his pricked-up ears On his clumsy paw I write your name On the springboard of my door On the familiar objects On the wave of blessed fire I write your name On all harmonious flesh On the face of my friends On every out-stretched hand I write your name On the window-pane of surprises On the careful lips Well-above silence I write your name On my destroyed shelter On my collapsed beacon On the walls of my weariness I write your name On absence without want On naked solitude On the steps of death I write your name On regained health On vanished risk On hope free from memory I write your name And by the power of one word I begin my life again I am born to know you To call you by name: Liberty!


by Paul Eluard |

The Deaf and Blind

 Do we reach the sea with clocks 
In our pockets, with the noise of the sea 
In the sea, or are we the carriers 
Of a purer and more silent water? 

The water rubbing against our hands sharpens knives.
The warriors have found their weapons in the waves And the sound of their blows is like The rocks that smash the boats at night.
It is the storm and the thunder.
Why not the silence Of the flood, for we have dreamt within us Space for the greatest silence and we breathe Like the wind over terrible seas, like the wind That creeps slowly over every horizon.


by Paul Eluard |

The Absence

 I speak to you across cities
I speak to you across plains 

My mouth is upon your pillow 

Both faces of the walls come meeting
My voice discovering you 

I speak to you of eternity 

O cities memories of cities
Cities wrapped in our desires
Cities come early cities come lately
Cities strong and cities secret
Plundered of their master's builders
All their thinkers all their ghosts 

Fields pattern of emerald
Bright living surviving
The harvest of the sky over our earth
Feeds my voice I dream and weep
I laugh and dream among the flames
Among the clusters of the sun 

And over my body your body spreads
The sheet of it's bright mirror.


by Paul Eluard |

Other Children

 "Little child of my five senses 
and of my tenderness.
" Let us cradle our loves, We will have good children.
Well cared for, We will fear nothing on earth, Happiness, good fortune, prudence, Our loves And this leap from age to age, From the order of a child to that of an old man, Will not diminish us.
(Confidence).


by Paul Eluard |

Lady Love

 She is standing on my eyelids
And her hair is in my hair
She has the color of my eye
She has the body of my hand
In my shade she is engulfed
As a stone against the sky

She will never close her eyes
And she does not let me sleep
And her dreams in the bright day
Make the suns evaporate
And me laugh cry and laugh
Speak when I have nothing to say


by Paul Eluard |

Five Haiku

 The wind 
Undecided 
Rolls a cigarette of air 

The mute girl talks: 
It is art's imperfection.
This impenetrable speech.
The motor car is truly launched: Four martyrs' heads Roll under the wheels.
Ah! a thousand flames, a fire, The light, a shadow! The sun is following me.
A feather gives to a hat A touch of lightness: The chimney smokes.


by Paul Eluard |

Curfew

 What else could we do, for the doors were guarded,
What else could we do, for they had imprisoned us,
What else could we do, for the streets were forbidden us,
What else could we do, for the town was asleep?
What else could we do, for she hungered and thirsted,
What else could we do, for we were defenceless,
What else could we do, for night had descended,
What else could we do, for we were in love?


by Paul Eluard |

At the Window

 I have not always had this certainty, this pessimism which reassures the best among us.
There was a time when my friends laughed at me.
I was not the master of my words.
A certain indifference, I have not always known well what I wanted to say, but most often it was because I had nothing to say.
The necessity of speaking and the desire not to be heard.
My life hanging only by a thread.
There was a time when I seemed to understand nothing.
My chains floated on the water.
All my desires are born of my dreams.
And I have proven my love with words.
To what fantastic creatures have I entrusted myself, in what dolorous and ravishing world has my imagination enclosed me? I am sure of having been loved in the most mysterious of domains, my own.
The language of my love does not belong to human language, my human body does not touch the flesh of my love.
My amorous imagination has always been constant and high enough so that nothing could attempt to convince me of error.