The Swan II
Paris may change- my spleen- no way!
Shiny new palaces, annexes, blocks,
All for me become allegory
Making memory heavier than rocks.
Again, before this Louvre, the thing recurs-
I see my poor swan, hear its fruitless prayers
And mull the heart of every exile
Endlessly gnawed by longing. And, of you
'Andromache- beside Hector's yet-empty tomb
Passed from the arms of a brave man
To his slayer's son and on to those of Helenus:
Once the wife of Hector, now his brother's.
I think of the Black, feverish and poor,
Rocking in the sand, staring tired-eyed
Toward the shores of a savage Africa
Where things come all at once to unruly fruition
And all who've lost what can never return.
Who banquet on tears
Who suckle the breasts of Despair
And wane like flowers watered with salt-rain.
Thrilled in its wood, my soul hears
Gone memories ring like clarions;
I think of sailors stranded on isles,
Of prisoners, of homeless, and others, still.
from the French of Baudelaire
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Swan II by Morgan Michaels )
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
- So sorry, gajanan mishra
- My Dream Tonight, Wilfred Mellers
- To Joyce, Roger A. Rose
- Miriam's danse, Dimitri Khokhlov
- The harp players, Mark Heathcote
- Heil Britannia, Francie Lynch
- The Clouds Out Of An Aeroplane Window, Sambanath Denis
- I'm no less, Nassy Fesharaki
- On Looking Out The Window Of An Airoplane, Sambanath Denis
- Mosaic of Love And Legends By Onkar Nath.., Bijay Kant Dubey