SONG OF AUTUMN poem by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE English text ENG

 

 

 

Charles Baudelaire

Song of autumn

(Chant d’automne)

 

(French poetry with English translation)

 

 

Brief introduction to poetry

 

“Song of Autumn” is a lyric poem by Charles Baudelaire contained in the ‘Spleen et Ideal‘ section of the poetry collection: “The Flowers of Evil”.

I) the man is chained “between the seasons” of life that inexorable pass, the falling wooden logs remember the passing time, summer is too short, the cold of winter advances, the heart freezes, the danger of humanity is the loss of sensibility. Who stops to observe, conscious and dismay dies more quickly.

II) Not even the beauty of your green eyes, not even your love is enough to save man which understood the passage of time and the seasons. “Yet, love me, tender heart! be a mother,
Even to an ingrate, even to a scapegrace; Mistress or sister, be the fleeting sweetness of a gorgeous autumn or of a setting sun…” although aware of its brevity I can still taste the moment and the ephemeral enchantment, albeit in a short, melancholy regret: “Taste the sweet, yellow rays of the end of autumn…”

(From: introduction to poetry, by Michael Serye).

 

Following the poem by Charles Baudelaire “Song of Autumn” translated into English.

Here you can find the poem by Charles Baudelaire “Song of Autumn” (Chant d’Automne) in the original French language.

In the menu above or to the side you can find the poem by Charles Baudelaire “Song of Autumn”
translated or collected by yeyebook.com in other languages: Italian, German, Spanish and Chinese.

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Charles Baudelaire

Song of autumn

 

(English translation)

 

 

 

I

 

 

Soon we shall plunge into the cold darkness;

Farewell, vivid brightness of our short-lived summers!

Already I hear the dismal sound of firewood

Falling with a clatter on the courtyard pavements.

 

 

All winter will possess my being: wrath,

Hate, horror, shivering, hard, forced labor,

And, like the sun in his polar Hades,

My heart will be no more than a frozen red block.

 

 

All atremble I listen to each falling log;

The building of a scaffold has no duller sound.

My spirit resembles the tower which crumbles

Under the tireless blows of the battering ram.

 

 

It seems to me, lulled by these monotonous shocks,

That somewhere they’re nailing a coffin, in great haste.

For whom? — Yesterday was summer; here is autumn

That mysterious noise sounds like a departure.

 

 

 

II

 

 

I love the greenish light of your long eyes,

Sweet beauty, but today all to me is bitter;

Nothing, neither your love, your boudoir, nor your hearth

Is worth as much as the sunlight on the sea.

 

 

Yet, love me, tender heart!

be a mother, Even to an ingrate, even to a scapegrace;

Mistress or sister, be the fleeting sweetness

Of a gorgeous autumn or of a setting sun.

 

 

Short task! The tomb awaits; it is avid!

Ah! let me, with my head bowed on your knees,

Taste the sweet, yellow rays of the end of autumn,

While I mourn for the white, torrid summer!

..

.

Charles Baudelaire – Song of Autumn (Chant d’Automne).

From: “The Flowers of Evil”, section: “Spleen et Ideal”

(French poetry with English translation)

 

 

 

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Charles Baudelaire

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Charles Baudelaire

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