The Heart
Anna de Noailles
My heart, hung with fragrant ivy and vines,
You are a garden where all four seasons
Holding new boxwood and clusters of currant
Dance on the lawn with cones from the pines.
- Beneath the gnarled pear trees, crowns freshly renewed,
You are the slope that looks over the sea,
Wild with delight at the singing when morning arrives
Whilst, on a bitter mint sprig, a cicada is glued.
- You are a steep valley ; where nature
Carpets your space and your depths
With delicate moss and grass with new tenure.
- You are, in your humble scent of the country,
The merry pasture and flourishing orchard
Where happy are herds though pigeons lament,
Grazing on honeysuckle or preening their plumage.
- And you are also, my grave and passionate heart,
Warm, capacious and with a life prudently furnished,
Full of wine, honey, flour and rice,
Opened to the perfume of seasons as well as the hour,
Where human tenderness lives and is nourished.
Anna de Noailles
My heart, hung with fragrant ivy and vines,
You are a garden where all four seasons
Holding new boxwood and clusters of currant
Dance on the lawn with cones from the pines.
- Beneath the gnarled pear trees, crowns freshly renewed,
You are the slope that looks over the sea,
Wild with delight at the singing when morning arrives
Whilst, on a bitter mint sprig, a cicada is glued.
- You are a steep valley ; where nature
Carpets your space and your depths
With delicate moss and grass with new tenure.
- You are, in your humble scent of the country,
The merry pasture and flourishing orchard
Where happy are herds though pigeons lament,
Grazing on honeysuckle or preening their plumage.
- And you are also, my grave and passionate heart,
Warm, capacious and with a life prudently furnished,
Full of wine, honey, flour and rice,
Opened to the perfume of seasons as well as the hour,
Where human tenderness lives and is nourished.
Translation: © David Paley
✿•*¨`*•.༺♥༻ .•*¨`*•✿
Le cœur
Anna de Noailles
Mon cœur tendu de lierre odorant et de treilles,
Vous êtes un jardin où les quatre saisons
Tenant du buis nouveau, des grappes de groseilles
Et des pommes de pin, dansent sur le gazon.
- Sous les poiriers noueux couverts de feuilles vives
Vous êtes le coteau qui regarde la mer,
Ivre d'ouïr chanter, quand le matin arrive,
La cigale collée au brin de menthe amer.
- Vous êtes un vallon escarpé ; la nature
Tapisse votre espace et votre profondeur
De mousse délicate et de fraîche verdure.
- Vous êtes dans votre humble et pastorale odeur
Le verger fleurissant et le gai pâturage
Où les joyeux troupeaux et les pigeons dolents
Broutent le chèvrefeuille ou lissent leur plumage.
- Et vous êtes aussi, cœur grave et violent,
La chaude, spacieuse et prudente demeure
Pleine de vins, de miel, de farine et de riz,
Ouverte au bon parfum des saisons et des heures,
Où la tendresse humaine habite et se nourrit.
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