Poem for Saturday

Demain, Dès L'Aube
By Victor Hugo

Demain, dès l'aube, à l'heure ou blanchit la campagne,
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends.
J'irai par la foret, j'irai par la montagne.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.

Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,
Sans rien voir au-dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,
Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,
Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.

Je ne regarderai ni l'or du soir qui tombe,
Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,
Et, quand j'arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe
Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.


My own fairly accurate but poetically unlovely translation:

Tomorrow At Dawn

Tomorrow, at the hour when dawn whitens the fields,
I shall take my leave. I can picture you waiting for me.
I will pass through the forest, I will pass over the hills.
I can no longer live so far from where you must be.

I will walk with my eyes fixed inward on my plight,
Seeing nothing outside, hearing not one single sound.
The day will fade for me into shades of night,
Alone, unknown, hands crossed, back bent over the ground.

I will gaze neither at the golden fall of eve,
Nor at the distant sails which descend about Harfleur,
And when I arrive, I will place on your grave
A bouquet of green holly and blossoming heather.

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: "Kindred". Spoilers for H.M.S. Surprise. For the Ireland challenge but set in India.

One son has Hebrew school, the other has baseball practice this afternoon up in Germantown and then I think we're all going to Hidalgo afterward; at least, that's the plan as of now. It's a lovely day so my allergies are being annoying. But at least things are relatively quiet.