Upon the topmost branches dies
A last ray of the setting sun;
A glimmer of strange gilding lies
Upon the leaves' vermilion.
From the pale sky the colours fade
'Tis grey even as grey waters are.
There glide like sudden shafts of shade
The living wings of birds afar.
From all things comes a charm so deep.
So sweet and glad, so void of strife.
Calm as the peacefulness of sleep.
Spreads the divinely cosmic life.
The sounds of the far city roll
On fitful winds to my retreat —
Why falls there sudden on my soul
A feeling beyond speaking sweet?
Dear God, how all the sense of doom
Vanishes in the face of things!
How one is like poor men to whom
Some chance a day of feasting brings!
How one adores in childlike mood
And finds thee where the shadows fall,
Here is life's holy amplitude
Thee who, perhaps art not at all!
Fernand Gregh (1873 - 1960) France
Translated by by Ludwig Lewisohn
Source: The Poets of Modern France by Ludwig Lewisohn, B. W. Huebseh, 1918
A wonderful find
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