Nevermore, Translation of Paul Verlaine's Sonnet: Nevermore

Nevermore, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet : Nevermore (In this translation of Paul Verlaine’s « Nevermore » , I must say I felt inveigled into adhering to the fixed form by making some unnecessary allowances just in order to respect the rime scheme. It would have been better if I had abandoned the effort at laboriously keeping to the original’s end-rimes. T. Wignesan) Souvenirs, souvenirs, what do you want of me ? Autumn Invites the thrush to fly through the air lifeless sans tone, And the sun beats its rays down : relentless monotone Over the yellowing wood where claps the North wind’s thunder tone. We were walking all by ourselves as if in a dream, She and I, haïr and thoughts buffeted by the wind’s non-esteem. All of a sudden, she turned towards me her looks agleam « Which was your most beautiful day ? » did her lively golden voice beam. Her voice soft and sonorous, a fresh timbre angelic. A discreet smile she did redeem as a reaction cyclic, And her blanched hand I kissed with devoutness. Oh ! the first flowers, how their scent liberates perfumes ! And the first sounds they emit akin to charming murmur The first « yes » that escapes the lips of virgin dames consumes ! © T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013