For Numberless Centuries Your Beauty Will Flourish

Song of Love (6)

Alphonse de Lamartine

One day, jealous time, with an icy breath,
Will fade your colours like a drooping flower
Upon its bed of turf;
And its hand will wither on your charming lips
Those quick kisses of which you, alas, deprive me
In their maidenly season.

But when your eyes, veiled in a cloud of tears,
See the departing days that charmed delight
They will sob in profusion;
When, in your memories, in the breaking wave,
You search in vain for your beautiful image,
Look into my heart!

There, for numberless centuries, your beauty will flourish;
There, your sweet memory will reside for ever reflecting
My devotion
Like a golden lamp carried by a blessèd saint
Whose hand, on crossing the room,
Shelters its tremulous light.

And when death comes, another love will follow,
Which, whilst smiling at our double lives,
Will extinguish the torch of the one, then of the other,
And place my couch next to yours,
With your faithful hand once more embracing mine
In the depths of the tomb.

But, may we, instead, pass over this earth
Like, as one sees in the autumn, a solitary pair
Of amorous swans
Leaving the nest where they lived, fondly embracing,
And, together, towards gentler climes,
Taking their flight, two by two.

Translation: © David Paley