Night and Moon

The Accursed Cherub

Bluish roofs and white doors
As on nocturnal Sundays,
At the town's end,
the road without Sound is white,
and it is night.


The street has strange houses
With shutters of angels.
But look how he runs towards a Boundary-stone,
evil and shivering, A dark cherub who staggers,
Having eaten too many jububes.
He does a cack : then disappears :
But his cursed cack appears,
Under the holy empty moon,
A slight cesspool of dirty blood !
Louis Ratisbonne.


Original French


L'angelot maudit


Toits bleuâtres et portes blanches
Comme en de nocturnes dimanches,


Au bout de la ville sans bruit
La Rue est blanche, et c'est la nuit.


La Rue a des maisons étranges
Avec des persiennes d'Anges.


Mais, vers une borne, voici
Accourir, mauvais et transi,


Un noir Angelot qui titube,
Ayant trop mangé de jujube.


Il fait caca : puis disparaît :
Mais son caca maudit paraît,


Sous la lune sainte qui vaque,
De sang sale un léger cloaque

Summer Night

NOW sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The firefly wakens: waken thou with me.


Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.


Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.


Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.


Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.

Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font;
The firefly wakens, waken thou with me.


Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.


Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.


Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts, in me.


Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake.
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.