Apres Trois Ans
When I had pushed the narrow garden-door,
Once more I stood within the green retreat;
Softly the morning sunshine lighted it,
And every flow'r a humid spangle wore.
Nothing is changed. I see it all once more:
The vine-clad arbor with its rustic seat. . . .
The waterjet still plashes silver sweet,
The ancient aspen rustles as of yore.
The roses throb as in a bygone day,
As they were wont, the tall proud lilies sway.
Each bird that lights and twitters is a friend.
I even found the Flora standing yet,
Whose plaster crumbles at the alley's end,
--Slim, 'mid the foolish scent of mignonette.
Paul Verlaine's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Apres Trois Ans by Paul Verlaine )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- Crematorium, umaprosad das
- Stupid Illusion, Zillur Rahman Shuvro
- Por Ti Soñaré, Prophmatt . . .
- The color of love, Zillur Rahman Shuvro
- Nightmare, Zillur Rahman Shuvro
- Love and Peace, Akhtar Jawad
- Waiting for someone, Zillur Rahman Shuvro
- Net of Death, Zillur Rahman Shuvro
- Man for Man, Zillur Rahman Shuvro
- Lost Love, Zillur Rahman Shuvro