Poetry by John Perna, from the French of Albert Samain
Golden is all the sky, over yonder to the west,
Through naked meadows where the lonely path winds down
Breathes up the tingling scent of hayblades freshly mown.
This is the hour when drowsy Earth’s at rest.
Weary from having bent my fevered brow all day
I fled the enclosing house like casting off a weight.
I yearn for the majestic view and heaven’s far-flung height
While before me glows the softly twilit fields’ display.
A hushed, mild solemnity in the whole air sleeps,
My breast is filling in the fresh wind’s race,
My soothed heart, it feels, grows larger with the space,
For the limitless plan has resemblance to the deep.