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Song of the Highest Tower
by Arthur Rimbaud
translation by Michael R. Burch

Let it come, let it come,
The day when all hearts love as one.

I’ve endured so long
That I’d even forgotten
The pain and the terror.
I’ve visited heaven,
And yet a morbid thirst
Still darkens my veins.

Let it come, let it come,
The day when all hearts love as one.

Thus the neglected meadow
Given over to oblivion
Flowered, overgrown
With weeds and incense
As hordes of filthy flies
Buzzed nearby.

Let it come, let it come,
The day when all hearts love as one.



Les Illuminations II: Enfance (“Childhood”)
by Arthur Rimbaud
translation by Michael R. Burch

II.

The little girl lies dead, behind the rosebushes. – The young mother, deceased, descends the steps. – The cousin’s carriage squeaks through sand. – The little brother (he’s in India!) lies facing the sunset in a meadow of carnations. – The old ones are buried upright in ramparts overgrown with wallflowers.

Swarms of golden leaves surround the General’s house. They’re in the south. – Follow the red road to arrive at the empty inn. The chateau’s for sale; its shutters flap. – The priest’s taken the key to the church. – The keepers’ cottages are tenantless, the fences so high only rustling treetops are visible. Oh well, there’s nothing much to be seen, besides.

The meadows rise to hamlets without roosters, without anvils. The sluice gate is raised, the waters rise. O the wilderness’s crosses and windmills, its islands and millstones!

Magic flowers buzzed. Embankments cradled him. Creatures of fabulous elegance encircled him. Clouds accumulating over open seas unleashed an eternity of warm tears.

IV.

I am the saint praying on the portico, watching docile beasts graze down to Palestine’s sea.

I am the scholar in the dark armchair as whipping branches and rain hurl themselves at the library’s shutters.

I am the pedestrian on the path through stunted woods; the tinkle of clicking locks anticipates my steps. For a long time I pause to ponder the sunset’s melancholy golden demise.

I am the child abandoned on the jetty jutting out toward the high seas, the small valet whose forehead brushes the sky as he navigates an alley.

The trails are rough, their mounds haired with broom. The air is so still, so silent! How distant, the birds and the rills! The end of the world must lie ahead.

Keywords/Tags: Rimbaud, English translation, song, tower, hearts, love, come, day, one, child, childhood, girl, mother, brother
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