Symbolist Poetry
The Sound of A Distant Waterfall...
The distant sound of a waterfall
Resounds through the forest,
Quiet joy wafts down
From the dusky heavens.
Just the white vault of the sky
Just the white dream of the earth...
My heart obediently fell silent,
All my worries drifted away.
Slow joy,
Everything flows together as if in sleep...
The distant sound of a waterfall
Resounds in the silence.
Vladimir Solovev
Green (from "Aquarelles")
.........I give these flowers and fruits, these leafy sprays,
and my heart also, throbbing for your sake,
into your two white hands- oh, do not break
such poor gifts, nor your eyes deny them praise.
.........I come all covered yet with dew the breeze
of morning turns to ice upon my face.
Let my weariness, before your knees,
dream these dear moments which will give it peace
..........Let my head, still ringing with your last
kisses, settle on your soft young breast;
and when the splendid hurricane has passed,
perhaps I'll sleep a little while you rest.
Paul Verlaine
If my happiness were ....”
If my happiness were a free eagle,
And proudly soared in the blue heavens,
I would pull my bow with its vibrant arrow,
And he would be mine, dead or alive.
If my happiness were a magnificent flower,
Blossoming on a steep craggy cliff,
I would reach for it, unafraid of the heights,
I would pick it and breathe and breathe its sweet aroma.
If my happiness were an antique ring,
And buried in a river under flowing sand,
A mermaid I would be and dive after it into the depths,
So it would shimmer on my hand.
If my happiness were to be locked in your heart,
Night and day I would temper it with a sacred flame,
So it belonged to me for all eternity,
So that only I would keep its beat pulsating and alive.
Mirra Lokhvitskaya
IN THE SEVEN WOODS
I HAVE heard the pigeons of the Seven Woods
Make their faint thunder, and the garden bees
Hum in the lime-tree flowers; and put away
The unavailing outcries and the old bitterness
That empty the heart. I have forgot awhile
Tara uprooted, and new commonness
Upon the throne and crying about the streets
And hanging its paper flowers from post to post,
Because it is alone of all things happy.
I am contented, for I know that Quiet
Wanders laughing and eating her wild heart
Among pigeons and bees, while that Great Archer,
Who but awaits His hour to shoot, still hangs
A cloudy quiver over Pairc-na-lee
William Butler Yeats
My Idols
And I listened, in me, to a strange discussion of a thousand voices…
Suddenly a reckless gust of spring wind
Frolicked among my idols…swaying and falling…
And there was a great, happy crash of empty porcelain!
I laughed and in me, wild beast, in unison,
A chorus of mysterious voices emerged, noble,
Singing life’s eternal victories.
Delmira Agustini
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