The Last Hope, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet : Dernier espoir
There stands a tree in the cemetery
Thrusting itself up in total freedom,
By no means the fruit of bereavement –
Spreading itself out on stone unobtrusively.
In this tree, be it summer or winter,
A bird alights to trill clearly
It’s sad song of such fidelity.
This tree and this bird do us bind together :
You the object of my thoughts, I the absence
That time takes stock of in evanescence…
Ah ! To live again propped up against your knees !
Ah ! To be alive again ! But stay yet awhile, my lover,
Let not the void be my chilling victor…
At the least, say : I live but in your intimate core ?
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013