Illustration: Annagol
L’ESPÉRANCE
Craintive amie que l’Espérance;
Assise en dehors de ma geôle,
Elle guettait ma destinée
Comme font les coeurs égoïstes.
Elle était cruelle en sa crainte :
Un morne jour que, pour la voir,
J’épiais entre les barreaux,
Elle détourna le visage!
Faux veilleur faisant fausse garde,
Chuchotant paix quand je luttais,
Chantant si je versais des larmes,
Pour se taire quand j’écoutais!
Fausse, certe, autant qu’implacable :
Mes joies dernières humiliées,
L’Affliction même fut contrite
De voir leurs ruines dispersées.
Mais l’Espérance — dont un souffle
Eût guéri mon dément chagrin —
Gagnant les cieux à tire-d’aile,
S’en fut, et jamais ne revint.
***
HOPE
Hope was but a timid friend;
She sat without my grated den,
Watching how my fate would tend,
Even as selfish-hearted men.
She was cruel in her fear;
Through the bars, one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!
Like a false guard false watch keeping,
Still in strife she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping;
When I listened, she would cease.
False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;
Hope—whose whisper would have given
Balm to all that frenzied pain—
Stretched her wings and soared to heaven;
Went—and ne’er returned again!
(Emily Brontë)
Recueil: Poèmes
Traduction: Pierre Leyris
Editions: Gallimard
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