STANZAS FROM 'THE YONG CAPTIVE' by ANDRE MARIE CHENIER

THE wheat while still unripe the sickle spares,
No vat the tender vine through summer fears,
And drinks the morning dews.
And I, as lovely and as young as he,
Although some present pain and grief may be,
To die so soon refuse.

Is it for me to die who peaceful sleep
And peaceful wake? who never learned to weep
As yet by night or day;
Whose very sight made all beholders glad,
And in this dismal place brows dark and sad
Can almost change to gay.

So far is life's glad journey from the end,
That the first tree of all that o'er it bend,
Its shade still round me throws.
Scarce has begun for me life's joyous feast,
My eager lips have scarce the goblet pressed,
Which in my hand o'erflows.

O death! you need not haste; begone! begone!
Go solace hearts that shame and fear have known,
And hopeless woes beset.
Still Pales has for me his grassy ways,
Love has its kisses, and the Muse her lays--
I will not die as yet.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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