Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, CANTILENA AND CRY OF ADIEU ON THE HILL OF THE MANOR, by PAUL FORT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

CANTILENA AND CRY OF ADIEU ON THE HILL OF THE MANOR, by                    
First Line: A last song? Flushing all the sky dawn like a rose-bud doth un
Last Line: "the foremost poet of france if only I could find the time."
Subject(s): Farewell; Flowers; Spring; Parting


A last song? Flushing all the sky Dawn like a rose-bud doth unfold. The city is
its flower of gold. O Spring, my flower full-blown, goodby! . . .

The manor's shade, that darkly grieves, increases my departure's pain. In that
shade, how many lovely eves 'neath the tiered bastions of the plain!

I must go. Fate holds me in its clutch. Is the racked soul contented now?
Farewell, sweet hill with virgin brow, and you, chateau I loved so much.

A fragrant flower the town appears, that I to shred no longer dare with my
regard; Dawn's sister fair, beheld through eyes all blurred with tears.

Rose at the heart of a rose, farewell! I dare not touch thee . . . How could I,
a stranger? My departure's bell chimes slowly from the belfry high.

-- The manor's shade, that darkly grieves, increases my departure's pain. In
that shade, how many lovely eves 'neath the tiered bastions of the plain!

Flowers, still more flowers, a fragrant lawn enamelling our Valois lands, how I
saw them born beneath the dawn whereto I stretched my yearning hands,

dreaming of grasping, high in air, a golden harvest fair to see, Crepy,
Dampleux, Crouy, Villers and Longpont with its priory,

or, 'neath what names perfumed still more, these buttercups, these bluets blue,
Troesnes, Faverolle, Ivors, Bourg-fontaine, Ecoute-s'il-pleut?

-- The manor's shade, that darkly grieves, increases my departure's pain. In
that shade, how many lovely eves 'neath the tiered bastions of the plain!

Adieu, dear country of Racine! Adieu, fair land so pure of line, having at heart
the rose serene that's of Ferte-Milon the sign

whereon the double dews distill of the azure Ourcq, the blonde canal, where
petit-patapan there drinks his fill the bee of the spruce and tidy mill.

Farewell the forge, with glow profound, the silence to the anvil's sound, and
the shade, that comes to sadden me, of this manor loved so fervidly.

-- The manor with its shade one leaves, makes far from light the exile's pain.
Adieu forever, my fair eves 'neath the tiered bastions of the plain!

A last cry! Echoing let it glance from the manor to the Spring divine: "I'd be
the foremost poet of France if only I could find the time."





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