Classic Poem

D.M. STÉPHANE MALLARMÉ

DEAD IN VALVINS

Red autumn in Valvins around thy bed
was watchful flame or yet thy spirit induced
might vanish away in magic gold diffused
and kingdom o'er the dreaming forest shed.

What god now claims thee priest, O chosen head,
most humble here that wast, for that thou knew'st
thro' what waste nights thy lucid gaze was used
to spell our glory in blazon'd ether spread?

Silence alone, that o'er the lonely song
impends, old night, or, known to thee and near,
long autumn afternoon o'er stirless leaves.

suspended fulgent haze, the smouldering throng
staying its rapt assumption-pyre to hear
what strain the faun's enamour'd leisure weaves.