THE NEW SPRING [TRANSLATION]

Sadly your dear voice said: “Is the old spring-time dead, And shall we never see New leaves upon the tree? “Shall the black wings of war Blot out sun, moon and star, And never a bud unfold To the bee its secret gold? “Where are the wind-flowers streaked, And the wayward bramble shoots, And the black-birds yellow-beaked With a note like woodland flutes?” No flower shall bloom this year But the wild flame of fear Wreathing the evil night With burst of deadly light. No splendour of petals red But that which the cannon shed, Raining their death-bloom down On farm and tower and town. This is the scarlet doom By the wild sea-winds hurled Over a land of gloom, Over a grave-strewn world. Émile Verhaeren