See here the tulip, and see there the roses,
Where in the park Love sports beneath the trees,
Sing in the long rose-red, unruffled eves
Under the bronze and marble’s massive poses.
Gaily at night have sung the flower-beds
On which the slanting moonbeams pirouette,
And gusts of wind blow heavy, desolate,
Troubling the white dream of the lonely birds.
See here the tulip, and see there the roses
And lilies dusk-empurpled, crystalline,
Gleam sadly in the sun that now declines;
And now the pain of things and creatures closes.
My shattered love is bruised and raw; but see,
The quivering nerves grow still, the hurt reposes.
And the lily now, the tulip and the roses
Watch my soul bathe in memories, and weep.
—Émile Nelligan, “Autumn Evenings”, trans. P. F. Widdows.