Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, REPOSE OF THE SOUL IN THE WOOD OF L'HAUTIL: DREAM OF THE FIRST DAY, by PAUL FORT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

REPOSE OF THE SOUL IN THE WOOD OF L'HAUTIL: DREAM OF THE FIRST DAY, by                    
First Line: Rest in the wood, my soul, on the past no longer brood, on that van
Last Line: Proud. Rejoice, rejoice, my soul, one sees pissefontaine . . .
Subject(s): Dreams; Forests; Soul; Nightmares; Woods


Rest in the wood, my soul, on the past no longer brood, on that vanished
bitterness, O soul in lassitude, but the honeysuckle part, your wrinkled joys
unfurl. The country is more sweet than is a changing pearl.

In the forest of l'Hautil, my soul, your strength recall. 'Tis a most shady
wood, quite young and very small, crowning a towering hill, remote in ether
pale, which o'er the Oise and Seine doth dominate the vale.

Fin-d 'Oise one sees from here, its swaying barques afloat on clear water, and
Triel that gently lulls my thought: of a belfry of Triel the voice to me is
borne, its belfry rose-enwreathed that bathes in golden corn.

My woes of those black days in Paris, where are they? Yonder two trains rush
past, a pair of swallows gay. One sees where, drunkenly, from Chanteloupe there
climbs the path the vintners trace to Tir among the vines,

which, hospitable sight, is with a bench endowed, as green as sprouting hope,
whose gestures bid me gain this realm, ascend the throne, god of the vintners
proud. Rejoice, rejoice, my soul, one sees Pissefontaine . . .





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