The Death of Lovers

We shall have beds full of subtle perfumes, Divans as deep as graves, and on the shelves Will be strange flowers that blossomed for us Under more beautiful heavens. Using their dying flames emulously, Our two hearts will be two immense torches Which will reflect their double light In our two souls, those twin mirrors. Some evening made of rose and of mystical blue A single flash will pass between us Like a long sob, charged with farewells; And later an Angel, setting the doors ajar, Faithful and joyous, will come to revive The tarnished mirrors, the extinguished flames. Translated by - William Aggeler La Mort des amants beds of subtle fragrance shall be ours, soft divans far deeper than a tomb, fairer climes shall yield mysterious flowers - flowers which for us were made to bloom. lavishing our final amorous hours there, our flaming hearts shall merge and loom in the twin mirrors of these souls of ours - torches vast which side by side consume. then some evening, rose and mystic blue, charged with the sobbing woe of our adieu, Love shall links us in one lightning-spark; later, shall the faithful angel fling all the portals wide, illumining the flameless torches and the mirrors dark. Translated by - Lewis Piaget Shanks The Death of the Lovers We will have beds which exhale odours soft, We will have divans profound as the tomb, And delicate plants on the ledges aloft, Which under the bluest of skies for us bloom. Exhausting our hearts to their last desires, They both shall be like unto two glowing coals, Reflecting the twofold light of their fires Across the twin mirrors of our two souls. One evening of mystical azure skies, We'll exchange but one single lightning flash, Just like a long sob - replete with good byes. And later an angel shall joyously pass Through the half-open doors, to replenish and wash The torches expired, and the tarnished glass. Translated by - Cyril Scott The Death of Lovers We shall have beds round which light scents are wafted, Divans which are as deep and wide as tombs; Strange flowers that under brighter skies were grafted Will scent our shelves with rare exotic blooms. When, burning to the last their mortal ardour, Our torch-like hearts their bannered flames unroll, Their double light will kindle all the harder Within the deep, twinned mirror of our soul. One evening made of mystic rose and blue, I will exchange a lightning-flash with you, Like a long sob that bids a last adieu. Later, the Angel, opening the door Faithful and happy, will at last renew Dulled mirrors, and the flames that leap no more. Translated by - Roy Campbell