By Paul Verlaine
Translated by Arthur Symons
When a sighing begins
In the violins
Of the autumn-song,
My heart is drowned
In the slow sound
Languorous and long
Pale as with pain,
Breath fails me when
The hours toll deep.
My thoughts recover
The days that are over,
And I weep.
And I go
Where the winds know,
Broken and brief,
To and fro,
As the winds blow
A dead leaf.
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It was nearly 80 degrees on Monday and my cold seems to be waning -- it was definitely a cold, since the pollen count certainly hasn't dropped since yesterday. I had a huge pile of chores to do that are only half-done and a project to work on that's at least mostly done, plus we took a walk in the park to enjoy the weather before I'm sick of it being too hot.
We also went to see Frantz, the wonderful reimagining of the post-Great War pacifist drama Broken Lullaby (and if you haven't seen that, don't look it up or it will spoil a crucial plot point). It's a gorgeous, strange movie that doesn't offer any simple conclusions, and the acting is very moving despite being in French and German with subtitles.
After Passover-lite dinner, we caught up on Madam Secretary, which I thought was pretty inconsistent in tone and had too many stories undercutting each other. I have to get up ridiculously early because the car has to go in for servicing and Paul's hip is bothering him so he can't walk home after dropping it off. From Brookside yesterday:
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