Their lips were languid and their eyes were dead, And hardly could be heard the words they said. In the old park, solitary and vast, Two ghosts once met to summon up the past. --Do you remember our old ecstasy? --Why would you bring it back again to me? --Do you still dream as you dreamed long ago? Does your heart beat to my heart's beating? --No. --Ah, those old days, what joys have those days seen When your lips met my lips!--It may have been. --How blue the sky was, and our hope how light! --Hope has flown helpless back into the night. They walked through weeds withered and grasses dead, And only the night heard the words they said. _From Poèmes Saturniens_ I. SOLEILS COUCHANTS Pale dawn delicately Over earth has spun The sad melancholy Of the setting sun. Sad melancholy Brings oblivion In sad songs to me With the setting sun. And the strangest dreams, Dreams like suns that set On the banks of the streams, Ghost and glory met, To my sense it seems, Pass, and without let, Like great suns that set On the banks of streams. II. CHANSON D'AUTOMNE When a sighing begins In the violins Of the autumn-song, My heart is drowned In the slow sound Languorous and long. Pale as with pain, Breath fails me when The hour tolls deep. My thoughts recover The days that are over, And I weep. And I go Where the winds know, Broken and brief, To and fro, As the winds blow A dead leaf. III. FEMME ET CHATTE They were at play, she and her cat, And it was marvellous to mark The white paw and the white hand pat Each other in the deepening dark. The stealthy little lady hid Under her mittens' silken sheath Her deadly agate nails that thrid The silk-like dagger-points of death. The cat purred primly and drew in Her claws that were of steel filed thin: The devil was in it all the same. And in the boudoir, while a shout Of laughter in the air rang out, Four sparks of phosphor shone like flame. _From La Bonne Chanson_ I The white moon sits And seems to brood Where a swift voice flits From each branch in the wood That the tree-tops cover.... O lover, my lover! The pool in the meadows Like a looking-glass Casts back the shadows That over it pass Of the willow-bower.... Let us dream: 'tis the hour.... A tender and vast Lull of content Like a cloud is cast From the firmament Where one planet is bright.... 'Tis the hour of delight. II