from the nineteenth century French

[rejectomorph]

A SIGH

Stephane Mallarme


Calm sister, toward your quiet brow where dreams
Roan autumn, toward the questing heaven of
Your eye, my soul mounts steadily; it seems
A jet of water sighing faithfully
Toward heaven in some worn garden; and, above,
October's blue is tender, pale, and pure,
And looks into the fountain with its sure
And infinite languor; in tawn agony
The leaves go with the wind and mark a dun
Hard furrow near a long cold line of sun.


translation by Yvor Winters


***