English poem
To Andre Chevrillon
by John Gray (1839–1915)
"Have you seen the listening snake?" bramble clutches for his bride, Lately she was by his side, Woodbine, with her gummy hands.
In the ground the mottled snake Listens for the dawn of day; Listens, listening death away, Till the day burst winter's bands.
Painted ivy is asleep, Stretched upon the bank, all torn, Sinewy though she be; love-lorn Convolvuluses cease to creep.
Bramble clutches for his bride, Woodbine, with her gummy hands, All his horny claws expands; She has withered in his grasp.
"Till the day dawn, till the tide Of the winter's afternoon." "Who tells dawning?"--"Listen, soon." Half born tendrils, grasping, gasp.
Je pleure dans les coins; je n'ai plus gout a rien; Oh! j'ai tant pleure, Dimanche, en mon paroissien!