My beauty, 

comfort me this evening. 

I am dying of love;

I need you to live until the day.

Should someone reproach me

For having towards you the heart harder than rock

To have left you, mistress,

To follow the Queen,

Beggar I do not know what 

That the vulgar call a largesse ?

Rather perish honor, shortness, and wealth,

That for goodness I never leave you,

My belle.

Often it only takes a tear of you, God listens to me.

The mouth is silent

To hear the heart speak.

Nothing makes us so great than a great pain. 

But, to be attained, do not believe, O poet.

To deceive his mistress, or overcome its weakness. 

Succumb, or fight incessantly.

God speaks, we have to answer. 

Forgive me if I always shake to have a weakness.

Do you love me again ?




Today Lord, 

I learned that you love another woman,And I come, desperate, to bid you farewell.

 One last time,

Pour the same wine into our two cups.

One last time, sing the song

Which speaks of a dead bird under the snow.

Then I will embark on the Hudson River

Whose waters divide

To flow east and west.

Why do you cry, Belle. Who hurt you?

You may marry a man with a faithful heart,

A man who will repeat to you sincerely:

“I only have eyes for you…”



Beyond the orchard which borders the bank, 

the vaporous chariot of the queen of shadows rises and whitens the horizon. 

Our boat slips on the quiet river 

While my friend sleeps, her hand in the water. 

A butterfly slipped on her shoulder, beat her wings and then flew

For a longtime, I watched him. 

It was heading towards the Cleveland mountain.

Was it a butterfly, or the dream that my friend had just made?



When the breeze swells your two silk robes, 
You look like a goddess clothed in clouds. 

When you pass, the flowers of the mulberry trees breathe you. 

When you carry lilacs that you have gathered, they tremble with joy. 

Circles of gold hug your ankles. Blue stones gleam at your belt. 

A bird of jade has made its nest in your hair. 

The roses of your cheeks are placed in the immense pearls of your necklace.

 When you look at me, I see the river flow. 

When you speak to me, I hear the music of the wind of my country. 

When a rider meets you, at dusk, He believes that it is already the dawn and immobilizes his horse. 

When a beggar sees you, he forgets his hunger.


Alone in her room, A girl embroideres silk flowers.

When, suddenly, she hears the sound of a distant flute … 

She shudders. 

She imagines a young man talking to her about love.

Through the paper from the window, 

The shadow of a leaf of rose bushes rests on her lap … 

She closes her eyes and dreams that a hand tears her dress.

” Unknown bird “


One evening, I breathed the fragrance of the flowers along the river.

The wind brought me the song of a distant flute.

To answer him, I cut a branch of willow,
And the song of my flute rocked the night charmed.

Since that evening, every day,
At a time when the campaign is falling asleep, 

The birds hear responding to their song that of an unknown bird, Of which , however, they understand the language.

“Love & Nostalgia”

 Often on the mountain, in the shade of the old oak,

At sunset, sadly I sit down;

I walk at random on the plain,

Whose changing picture takes place at my feet.

Here scolds the river with foaming waves;

It winds, and sinks into a distant obscurity;

There the motionless lake extends its still waters.

At the summit of these mountains crowned with dark woods,

The twilight still throws a last ray;  and the vaporous chariot of the queen of shadows Monte, and already whiteens the edges of the horizon.

However, rushing from the Gothic spire,

From hill to hill in vain bearing my sight,

From the south to the aquilon, from dawn to sunset,

I traverse all the points of the immense extent,

And I say: “somewhere happiness is waiting for me.”

Whether the round of the sun begins or ends,

With an indifferent eye I follow him in his course;

In a dark or pure sky it sets or gets up,

What does the sun matter? I expect nothing of the days. When I could follow him in his vast career,

My eyes would see emptiness and deserts everywhere:I desire nothing of all that he enlightens;I ask nothing of the immense universe.

What do these valleys, these places, these cottages, Vain objects of which the charm is gone for me?

But perhaps beyond the limits of his sphere,

Places where the true sun shines from other heavens,

If I could leave my remains to the earth,

What I dreamed so much would appear to me!

There I would get drunk at the spring where I aspired;

There I would find hope and love,

And this ideal good that every soul desires,

And who has no name in the earthly experience!

When the leaf falls into the meadow,

The evening wind rises and drains it from the valleys;

And I am like the wilted leaf:

Take me like her, stormy aquilons!