With long sobs <br />the violin-throbs <br />of autumn wound <br />my heart with languorous <br />and montonous <br />sound. <br /> <br />Choking and pale <br />When I mind the tale <br />the hours keep, <br />my memory strays <br />down other days <br />and I weep; <br /> <br />and I let me go <br />where ill winds blow <br />now here, now there, <br />harried and sped, <br />even as a dead <br />leaf, anywhere. <br /> <br /> <br />FRENCH <br /> <br /> <br />Les sanglots longs <br />Des violons <br />De l'automne <br />Blessent mon cœur <br />D'une langueur <br />Monotone. <br /> <br />Tout suffocant <br />Et blême, quand <br />Sonne l'heure. <br />Je me souviens <br />Des jours anciens, <br />Et je pleure... <br /> <br />Et je m'en vais <br />Au vent mauvais <br />Qui m'emporte <br />De çà, de là, <br />Pareil à la <br />Feuille morte...<br /><br />Paul Verlaine<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/autumn-song-6/
