Marie Dauguet: 'Ce qui console l'homme en peine d'horizon'

CE QUI CONSOLE L’HOMME EN PEINE D’HORIZON

 

Ce qui console l’homme en peine d’horizon,

D’avoir reçu ce don funeste: la raison,

Palpant des doigts le mur, à la prunelle claire,

C’est toi, douce folie, déformant le réel,

Dont les regards voilés embrument l’atmosphère,

Qui du vrai sage entend le conscient appel;

De s’écouter penser, ton charme le libère;

Ce qu’il désire, en toi, prend un contour parfait:

Le meilleur de la vie, c’est encor la chimère,

Le meilleur de l’amour, le rêve qu’on en fait,

 

 

THAT WHICH CONSOLES MAN FOR HIS LACK OF A HORIZON

 

That which consoles man for his lack of a horizon,

Of having once received this baleful gift of reason,

Groping along the wall, with pupils bright and clear,

It’s you, sweet lunacy, transforming what is real,

Whose veiled looks bring about a misty atmosphere,

And of what’s truly wise makes out the conscious call,

From hearing himself thinking your charm him sets free;

What he desires, in you, gains perfect shape and fit:

The best there is in life is still one’s fantasy,

The best there is in love, the dream one makes of it.