(In this translation of Paul Verlaine’s « Nevermore », I must say I felt inveigled into adhering to the fixed form by making some unnecessary allowances just in order to respect the rime scheme. It would have been better if I had abandoned the effort at laboriously keeping to the original’s end-rimes. T. Wignesan) <br /> <br />Souvenirs, souvenirs, what do you want of me? Autumn <br />Invites the thrush to fly through the air lifeless sans tone, <br />And the sun beats its rays down: relentless monotone <br />Over the yellowing wood where claps the North wind’s thunder tone. <br /> <br />We were walking all by ourselves as if in a dream, <br />She and I, haïr and thoughts buffeted by the wind’s non-esteem. <br />All of a sudden, she turned towards me her looks agleam <br />« Which was your most beautiful day? » did her lively golden voice beam. <br /> <br />Her voice soft and sonorous, a fresh timbre angelic. <br />A discreet smile she did redeem as a reaction cyclic, <br />And her blanched hand I kissed with devoutness. <br /> <br />Oh! the first flowers, how their scent liberates perfumes! <br />And the first sounds they emit akin to charming murmur <br />The first « yes » that escapes the lips of virgin dames consumes!<br /><br />T (no first name) Wignesan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/nevermore-translation-of-paul-verlaine-s-sonnet-nevermore/
