mardi, 28 octobre 2008
"Le perce-neige" de Coleridge
Où les Lys soumis au Zéphir
Se penchent pour s'embrasser eux-mêmes,
Images floues tremblant dans l'eau:-
C'est là, la nuit, que dort Laura,
Sommeil magique levant son sein:
Vagabond blanc des Harpes, son bras
Sous sa joue,plié, tient.
Le poème en entier et enb anglais ci-dessous:
Coleridge's "The Snow-Drop" was composed in December 1797. It's remarkable in that it only directly references the flower in the first stanza; the other eight are very obviously about the poet Mary Robinson, whom he correctly identifies as the fragile being actually referenced through Robinson's own symbolic flower. Printed below is the 1993 Everyman's Poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge edition:
Fear no more, thou timid Flower!
Fear thou no more the winter's might,
The whelming thaw, the ponderous shower,
The silence of the freezing night!
Since Laura murmur'd o'er thy leaves
The potent sorceries of song,
To thee, meek Flowret! gentler gales
And cloudless skies belong.
Her eye with tearful meanings fraught,
She gaz'd till all the body mov'd
Interpreting the Spirit's thought-
The Spirit's eager sympathy
Now trembled with thy trembling stem,
And while thy droopedst o'er thy bed,
With sweet unconscious sympathy
Inclin'd the drooping head.
She droop'd her head, she stretch'd her arm,
She whisper'd low her witching rhymes,
Fame unreluctant heard the charm,
And bore thee to Pierian climes!
Fear thou no more the Matin Frost
That sparkled on thy bed of snow:
For there, mid laurels ever green,
Immortal thou shalt blow.
Thy petals boast a white more soft,
The spell hath so perfumed thee,
That careless Love shall deem thee oft
A blossom from his Myrtle tree.
Then, laughing at the fair deceit,
Shall race with some Etesian wind
To seek the woven arboret
Where Laura lies reclin'd.
All them whom Love and Fancy grace,
When grosser eyes are clos'd in sleep,
The gentle spirits of the place
Waft up the insuperable steep,
On whose vast summit broad and smooth
Her nest the Phoenix Bird conceals,
And where by cypresses o'erhung
The heavenly Lethe steals.
A sea-like sound the branches breathe,
Stirr'd by the Breeze that loiters there;
And all that stretch their limbs beneath,
Forget the coil of mortal care.
Strange mists along the margins rise,
To heal the guests who thither come,
And fit the soul to re-endure
Its earthly martyrdom.
The margin dear to moonlight elves
Where Zephyr-trembling Lilies grow,
And bend to kiss their softer selves
That tremble in the stream below:-
There nightly borne does Laura lie
A magic Slumber heaves her breast:
Her arm, white wanderer of the Harp,
Beneath her cheek is prest.
The Harp unhung by golden chains
Of that low wind which whispers round,
With coy reproachfulness complains,
In snatches of reluctant sound:
The music hovers half-perceiv'd,
And only moulds the slumberer's dreams;
Remember'd LOVES relume her cheek
With Youth's returning gleams.
D'autres "perce-neige" en anglais:
et en français: