West Wind Donatello

Les hommes sont bien souvent les mêmes.

I

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave,until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill:

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and Preserver; hear, O hear!

II

Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,
Loose clouds like Earth's decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,

Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
On the blue surface of thine airy surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head

Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith's height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge

Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre
Vaulted with all thy congregated might

Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: O hear!

III

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,

Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,

All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers

Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know

Thy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!


Ode to the West Wind
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Elle regarde au travers de la vitre aux petits carreaux, les fines goutelettes ruisseler. A quoi songe t-elle ? Il existe des "expériences" dans l'existence qui incitent à la nonchalance. Le feu crépite et personne ne vient. Ecouter encore et toujours les Rêveries de Liszt n'apporte parfois plus rien.

She looks through the small squares window, little droplets are streaming. What does she think? There are some "experiments" in the existence which lead to be listless. The fire crackles and nobody comes. Sometimes,listen again and again the Liszt's Reveries is useless.

La pluie avait enfin cessé. Elle sorti. Son frère ne l'avait pas appelée ainsi qu'il l'avait promis. Comme il lui était désagréable ce sentiment d'abandon. Les hommes sont bien souvent les mêmes. Elle tentait vainement de s'en convaincre et y parvenait presque. Elle n'avait pas faim, mais se dit qu'il ne fallait pas sombrer. Son entourage ne lui pardonnerait pas cela.

Elle regarde autour d'elle et se pare de ses plus beaux atours. Elle fabrique l'ensemble de ses vêtements. Elle est enviée dans le monde entier. La solution existe; déjà, elle la soupçonne à nouveau, les fruits en cette fin de saison sont tellement beaux, semblables à ceux produits en des temps que son père lui avait parfois narrés, une réussite sans précédent, et l'assurance d' une année faste. Je suis dans mes plus belles années, pensa t'elle. Cette réflexion la ragaillardit un peu plus.


The rain had finally stopped. She went outside. Her brother had not called as promised. How was unpleasant this feeling of abandonment. Men are often the same. She tried in vain to convince herself and it almost succeeded. She was not hungry, but thought she should not sink. Her entourage would not forgive her.

She looks around and dons her finery. She sews all her garments. She is envied around the world. The solution exists; she already suspected it, fruits at the end of the season are so beautiful, similar to those produced in the time that her father had sometimes narrated, unprecedented success and the assurance of a prosperous year. I'm in my best years, she thought herself. This reflection was a little more exhilarating for her.

Strange fruits

Les pas du cheval, dans le lointain, ne laissaient plus de place au doute....

The horse's hoofs in the distance, leaving no room for doubt.