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Poem	When, by decree of the supreme power, The Poet appears in this annoyed world, His mother, blasphemous out of horror At God's pity, cries out with fists curled: "Ah! I'd rather You'd will me a snake's skin Than to keep feeding this monstrous slur! I curse that night's ephemera are sins To make my womb atone for pleasure. "Since You have chosen me from all the brides To bear the disgust of my dolorous groom And since I can't throw back into the fires Like an old love letter this gaunt buffoon "I'll replace Your hate that overwhelms me On the instrument of Your wicked gloom And torture so well this miserable tree Its pestiferous buds will never bloom!" She chokes down the eucharist of venom, Not comprehending eternal designs, She prepares a Gehenna of her own, And consecrates a pyre of maternal crimes. Yet, watched by an invisible seraph, The disinherited child is drunk on the sun And in all he devours and in all he quaffs Receives ambrosia, nectar and honey. He plays with the wind, chats with the vapors, Deliriously sings the stations of the cross; And the Spirit who follows him in his capers Cries at his joy like a bird in the forest. Those whom he longs to love look with disdain And dread, strengthened by his tranquillity, They seek to make him complain of his pain So they may try out their ferocity. In the bread and wine destined for his lips, They mix in cinders and spit with their wrath, And throw out all he touches as he grasps it, And accuse him of putting his feet in their path. His wife cries out so that everyone hears: "Since he finds me good enough to adore I'll weave as the idols of ancient years A corona of gold as a cover. "I'll get drunk on nard, incense and myrrh, Get down on bent knee with meats and wines To see if in a heart that admires, My smile denies deference to the divine. "And, when I tire of these impious farces, I'll arrange for him my frail and hard nails Sharpened just like the claws of a harpy That out of his heart will carve a trail. "Like a baby bird trembling in the nest I'll dig out his heart all red from my breast To slake the thirst of my favorite pet, And will throw it on the ground with contempt!" Toward the sky, where he sees a great host, The poet, serene, lifts his pious arms high And the vast lightning of his lucid ghost Blinds him to the furious people nearby: "Glory to God, who leaves us to suffer To cure us of all our impurities And like the best, most rarefied buffer Prepares the strong for a saint's ecstasies! "I know that You hold a place for the Poet In the ranks of the blessed and the saint's legions, That You invite him to an eternal fete Of thrones, of virtues, of dominations. "I know only sorrow is unequaled, It cannot be encroached on from Hell or Earth And if I am to braid my mystic wreath, May I impose it on the universe. "But the ancient jewels of lost Palmyra, The unknown metals, pearls from the ocean By Your hand mounted, they do not suffice, They cannot dazzle as clearly as this crown "For it will not be made except from halos Drawn of pure light in a holy portal Whose entire splendor, in the eyes of mortals Is only a mirror, obscure and mournful."
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