Palme. Palm

PALM

SCARCELY veiling the terrible Grace of its own brightness, An angel puts on my table The new bread, the settled milk; With the flicker of an eyelid It signs to me like a prayer That speaks to my inner vision: - Calm, calm, remain calm! Know the weight of the palm-tree Bearing its own profusion!

For as much as the palm-tree bends Beneath its abundance of goods, Its figure is accomplished, The weight of its fruit are its bonds. Admire the way it trembles, And like a slow-drawn fibre Which subdivides the moment, Can mediate matter-of-factly Between the pull of the earth And the weight of the firmament!

This fair arbiter moving Between shadows and the sun, Seems to be like a Sibyl In its wisdom and its sleep. Rooted in one place always The broad palm never wearies Of greetings nor of farewells... How noble it is, how tender! How worthy to be awaiting Only the hand of the gods! For Jeannie.

The light gold of its rustling Resounds at the touch of the air, And with a silken armour Powers the soul of the desert. An imperishable voice Given up to the sandy wind Which seeds it with its grains, Serves in itself as oracle, And can profess the miracle That it sings of unhappiness.

Meanwhile of itself unaware Between the sand and the sky, Each day that shines forth again Makes for it a little honey. Its sweetness is the measure Of that divine duration Which does not compute by days, But rather tends to conceal In its juice accumulating All the perfumes of love.

Sometimes if you should despair, If that adorable rigour In spite of your tears only works Under the shadow of languor, Do not accuse as a miser A Sage who can prepare So much of gold and authority: Through all the solemn sap A hope that is eternal Rises towards maturity!

Those days that to you seem empty And lost for the universe Have their own avaricious roots Working away in the desert. A network of finest hairs Elected by the shadows Is programmed never to stop, Even in the bowels of the earth, Seeking for those deep waters Its peremptory summit demands.

Patience, patience, Patience amid all that blue! Each atom of silence Is the chance of a ripe fruit! There will come the happy surprise: A dove, a little breeze, A rustling more than sweet, The way that a woman leans, Will bring down that shower of rain Where we throw ourselves on our knees!

Let this generation waste, Palm!... irresistibly so! In the dust let it be rolled On the fruits of the firmament! You have not lost these hours Such lightness you inherit After such lovely abandonment; Like as to one who has thought And whose soul has been used up In accumulating its gifts!