Le roy se meurt

The flames of the hearth flicker

like so other fires now extinguished

in the exalted heart of human furor .

  The king is dying .

Surrounded by beloved shadows 

and hater specters ...

 It's a cold november  morning .

In this mortuary chamber ,

the oppressive smell of fever ,

heavy perfumes and gangrene ...

Wifes, courtiers and suitors at our pleasure,

forgotten in infamous dungeons and sacrificed.

 '' Is it you ,ma mie, who has returned ? 

What is this red rose tearing your hand ? '' 

  It's a misty day in november 

or even the hours question the vanity of things...

 Tall candles fixed on a golden wood 

bow when the chalice appears ...

  Awaiting the somber confessor .

You who enter in the mystery of death 

without revealing any of the secrets of your life

thou  shalt have no rest !  

 The king is dying .

  His eyes see nothing but the procession 

of the tortured souls who cry out  

 for mercy and justice ! 

  '' Is it you ,Monsieur mon frère , 

who carries your head in your arms ? ''

  It's a sad evening in november 

drawing to a close .

  At the gallows the hanged men 

swing silently as if seized with respect .

 Crows spreading the news ...

Rain pours down on the London tower .

Patient is the executioner .

 '' Is it you ,ma fillote who stare at me 

with such despair  ? ''

- I ,who made you queen of a beautiful 

and futile kingdom .

Did you not know that all princesses 

are repudiated in the name of  the cruel

reason of state ? ''

- '' Forgive me everyone and let the almighty

be the judge ! 

 Him,only knows the weight and loneliness 

of power ! ''

-The futur is a lie already written on the blank page

of  eternity ! ''

  - '' Perhaps ,will I return as a poet ? ''.