Mourning
Emile Verhaeren
She had three sons. Boncelles undid them all.
I hear her soft voice speak, as shadows fall.
Long the red sunset in the woods has played,
Yet round her floats the mildness of the shade.
Though all her hours are hours of wretchedness,
She guards, for all her flesh’s weariness,
A heart that treasures up this tragedy,
And tears that shine with its nobility.
I see her slowly plucking in the lane
Three flowers for her three dear fallen men:
My soul rejoices, as it surely would,
To see this grief go forth, a force for good.
Boncelles was the scene of bitter fighting in 1914 when Germany invaded Belgium.
Verhaeren was a pacifist who was devastated by the the violence of World War I. He was on his way into exile in England when he fell under a train at Rouen and died.
This poem was translated by the poet and translator Timothy Adès. His site is www.timothyades.co.uk.
