I Eat Poetry

Les sanglots longs
Des violins
De l'automne
Blessent mon coeur
D'une langueur
Monotone.

Tout suffocant
Et bleme, quand
Sonne l'heure,
Je me souviens
Des jours anciends
Et je pleure.

Et je m'en vais
Au vent mauvais
Qui m'emporte
Deca, dela,
Pareil a la
Feuille morte.


This is the English translation I found by Arthur Symons (if you have a better one, please post):

When a sighing begins
In the violins
Of the autumn-song,
My heart is drowned
In the slow sound
Languorous and long

Pale as with pain,
Breath fails me when
The hours tolls deep.
My thoughts recover
The days that are over
And I weep.

And I go
Where the winds know,
Broken and brief,
To and fro,
As the winds blow
A dead leaf.