Today is Jules Verne's birthday. Here is a translation of one of his poems. Warning: it's a sad one.

Greenland Song

Dark Is the sky,
The sun sinks wearily;
My trembling heart, with sorrow filled,
Aches drearily !
My sweet child at my songs is smiling still,
While at his tender heart the icicles lie chill.
Child of my dreams I
Thy love doth cheer me;
The cruel biting frost I brave
But to be near thee!
Ah me, Ah me, could these hot tears of mine
But melt the icicles around that heart of thine!
Could we once more
Meet heart to heart,
Thy little hands close clasped in mine,
No more to part.
Then on thy chill heart rays from heaven above
Should fall, and softly melt it with the warmth of love!

Posted by: annika at 11:17 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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1 Now, Annie, this is almost maudlin -- it's a bit sophomoric, don't you think? I mean, it's Jules Verne, but the imagery isn't exactly original... I'm being cantankerous, sorry. I love your poem selections, but I'll gripe from time to time. More Burns, sister! And more of YOUR poetry!

Posted by: Hugo at February 09, 2006 03:11 PM (Yu24L)

2 Really, Hugo. On the man's birthday you gotta call him sophmoric! It's a good thing he's dead. ; ) I, too, thought that this poem was somewhat Poe-esque in tone without any of Poe's genius.

Posted by: annika at February 09, 2006 04:51 PM (zAOEU)

3 Annika, that's a devastating line of yours... see? You're a better writer than Verne!

Posted by: Hugo at February 10, 2006 09:23 AM (Yu24L)

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