Early Poetry

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Bol Early Poetry by Auguste de Villiers de l¿Isle-Adam (AD 1838-1889) was first published in 1859 (as Premières poésies in French). It contains, as explained in the preface, Villiers¿ poetry written before his twentieth year: "The author of this volume is nineteen years old. - It is... with a certain modesty that he releases these first pages." He need not have been so modest. The poetry is mature in execution and thought, rich in feeling and imagery; Romantic by and large, it anticipates the Decadents; it is something that a more seasoned poet would have been proud of, with the sometimes added benefit of the enthusiasm of youth.The poetry speaks for itself:Muse, what an admirable and rare privilege!By instinct, she shrugged her shoulders white as snowBefore all that life offers with its impure ennuis;Like a statue of sovereign forms, she accepted, With a withering smile the human miseriesAnd sorrows of obscure days.Anguish and terrors had rocked her before:As for solitude, she was weary of it;Our vain words, sorrows, sufferings, regrets,Brushed her without leaving any more of a traceThan a flight of vultures leaves on the surfaceOf the Ocean with its dark secrets.- From "Song the Third: Compassion," Hermosa

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Beschrijving (1)

Early Poetry by Auguste de Villiers de l¿Isle-Adam (AD 1838-1889) was first published in 1859 (as Premières poésies in French). It contains, as explained in the preface, Villiers¿ poetry written before his twentieth year: "The author of this volume is nineteen years old. - It is... with a certain modesty that he releases these first pages." He need not have been so modest. The poetry is mature in execution and thought, rich in feeling and imagery; Romantic by and large, it anticipates the Decadents; it is something that a more seasoned poet would have been proud of, with the sometimes added benefit of the enthusiasm of youth.The poetry speaks for itself:Muse, what an admirable and rare privilege!By instinct, she shrugged her shoulders white as snowBefore all that life offers with its impure ennuis;Like a statue of sovereign forms, she accepted, With a withering smile the human miseriesAnd sorrows of obscure days.Anguish and terrors had rocked her before:As for solitude, she was weary of it;Our vain words, sorrows, sufferings, regrets,Brushed her without leaving any more of a traceThan a flight of vultures leaves on the surfaceOf the Ocean with its dark secrets.- From "Song the Third: Compassion," Hermosa


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  • 9781955392723
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