Marcel Proust: Mozart

Marcel Proust

(1871-1922)

Mozart

Italian at arms or Prince of Bavaria
His sad and icy eye enchanted by languor!
In his chilly gardens he encounters his heart
His bosom swells to shadow, where he nurses the light.

His tender German heart, – so deep a sigh!
Finally he tastes love’s idle being,
His hands too weak to hold his book
Beaming with hope in his charmed head.

Cherub, Don Juan! Standing in pressed flowers
Far from the lapse of memory
Such an amount of perfumes fan
Drying the tears the wind disperses
From Andalusian gardens to the tombs of Tuscany!

In the German park where troubles mist,
The Italian is still king of the night.
His breath makes the air soft and spiritual
And love drips from his enchanted flute
In the hot still shade of good-byes on a fine day
Of fresh sorbets, kisses and sky.

Marcel Proust poetry

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