English

PART V.

Day broke — the city's life was left behind;
That human cauldron where he had drawn breath,
Or, rather, life endured for its great end
Of being, without which existence, self
Were but a shadow; all the virtues pent
Within that chaos struggling into light
In forms that proved divinity; all vice
From which recoil the fiends incorporate
Created by the heart; all passions blind
In brute indulgence; all the apathy,
That petrifies until indifference looks

PART IV.

A solitary grave retired, apart
From turfy mounds, and pale grey avenues
Of headstones lettered by faint records, telling
Or truth or lie, in a lone churchyard rose.
The congregation of the dead convened
In their dark chambers of unconsciousness;
Sun, life, and air, gay maskers, revelling
Above their mystery inscrutable.

That grey stone looked as if its tenant thus
Had dwelt apart from the great multitude,
And sought seclusion even in nothingness.

A tie less human than divine allies
The mother to her son. Nought compensates
In after-life that link of severed love
When the bird flits forth from the parent tree.
Friends claim inviolate ties, till Time reveals
That change was their own being; Love absorbs
And prostrates hearts before his altar-place,
Until they die exhausted by their fires;
Ambition rules until, the summit gained,
The storm is met that sleeps not; but that first,
Purest, and holiest of earthly loves,
Taintless of self, was sent to prove to man

Evening descended o'er the suburbs dim;
The unfolding mantle of the night obscured
Streets slowly threaded, as that stranger traced
His path through tortuous avenues of stone,
And labyrinthine maze of alleys joined.

God made the desert in its liberty
Open to sky and wind, its trackless paths,
Its boundless aisles and rocky altar-shrines,
Its wild caves cleft within the mountain's heart,
Sublimest holds where nobler creatures tread
Apart in inaccessible solitudes;
Patricians mingling not with the base herd,

PARTI .

The grey waste of a silent solitude,
A lone vast plain, erewhile the breathing-place
Of a great city, whose departed life
Left it an echoless and desert void,
Dry, and adust with summer's fiery heat;
The cracked and arid pores of feverish earth
Opened to slake its thirst and weariness.

Twilight fell o'er the scene. The mingled lights,
Folded in mists and vapours palpable,
Gathered o'er that huge cauldron of dim smoke,
Looked like the formless shapes of ghosts half seen.

71

Meeting and who got drunk,
St. Marceau, your emblem,
He said, his fist at the pale man
- Ah! Toulet pig.

72

We said already seeing Siegfried ugly:
"Why he looks stupid?" - Eh! Jove is that it is!

73

In a secret dancing where women are out
I saw - there is no need to go to China,
I saw a Boche dance with Osnobitchine:
Ah, strange people, Munich! and what scenery!

74

- I declare, said Medea, Athens and Rafette,

61

Vile slanderers, what: "It is not the devil";
And that would be better than the other Destutt?
It! that his crimes were put to the Institute:
It! all guilty namesake and differences.

62

Me if I had the honor to be, Sir Doumic
I write like him. But I would sign: Sic.

63

Sarcey said one evening, "I do not know if you are
Like me; but Vautrin, it always ran me. "
Unquestionably. As long as you have believed
Life, and Balzac is to risette..

64

- Already Chahriarr said the Caliph 'Nine Tails
Whose name is dreaming of waves of the cove,
- Already the fingers of the day knocking on blue glass
As Fauchois chin.

52

Rivoire has a lot of heart in his humble career.
The heart is his genius. - Yes, Jenny working.

53

On Houville, its sinuous us to steal,
And Noailles, in emulation of his strewing flowers,
They are transformed into academics,
Be. But what does green coat changes their dress!

54

Nane, my fingers voluptuous porcelain
A day will come that you will also break
And your wandering soul forget the kiss -
Winter passes, flowers dissipates breath.

42

Whatever I am a modest clockmaker,
If my heart and my mother enough to stay.

43

Praise the hero dies
Near you, Venus, and sets,
If your lips on her mouth
And your silence in the heart.

44

Me! wear pants. Ah! this is a bad story,
Sir! ...
- Or. It should at least be aware of.

45

31

Love crying, which was wet,
Thing is where to mount the neck.
But three times, Nane, in quick! ...
I'll call the Trimouille.

32

And the bull returns to his querence,
I put together at home. But it smelled rancid.

33

What am I Archilochus darting you to iambic,
Instead of Mr. Sweet ... like silk.
And this brings me back to that of your legs;
Etrille where your natural beauty sits.

34

A yellow E red, I green, black O, U gray, consonant