Monday, June 22, 2009


The grass is soft for slumbering
Under the cool poplar trees,
By the slope of the mossy springs,
Which in the flowering meadows
Sprouting in thousands,
Lose themselves among the dark thickets.
Rest, oh Phydilé!
Noonday on the leaves
Sparkles and invites you to slumber!
Among the clover and the thyme,
Alone in the full sunshine,
The bees hum in their flight;
A warm perfume fills the air
At the turn of the paths,
The red poppy is drooping,
And the birds, grazing the hill with their wings,
Seek the shade of the wild rose bushes.
Rest, oh Phidylé!
But, when the orb,
Descending in its brilliant curve,
Will cool its smoldering heat.
Let your loveliest smile
And your tenderest kiss
Reward me for waiting!

- Leconte de Lisle

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