I am the Empire in the last of its decline,
That sees the tall, fair-haired Barbarians pass,--the while
Composing indolent acrostics, in a style
Of gold, with languid sunshine dancing in each line.
The solitary soul is heart-sick with a vile
Ennui. Down yon, they say, War's torches bloody shine.
Alas, to be so faint of will, one must resign
The chance of brave adventure in the splendid file,--
Of death, perchance! Alas, so lagging in desire!
Ah, all is drunk! Bathyllus, hast done laughing, pray?
Ah, all is drunk,--all eaten! Nothing more to say!
Alone, a vapid verse one tosses in the fire;
Alone, a somewhat thievish slave neglecting one;
Alone, a vague disgust of all beneath the sun!
Paul Verlaine's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Langueur by Paul Verlaine )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- Nasha pyaar ka, binod bastola
- The Storyteller, David Lewis Paget
- Read yourself, Eleonora Bistrianu
- State dictates people to be violent, Pranab K. Chakraborty
- Just After Dawn, David Harris
- Graveyard, Eleonora Bistrianu
- Moments, Eleonora Bistrianu
- Stasying the Course, John F. McCullagh
- Preposterous, Alem Hailu Gabre Kristos
- The Little Wood, Ruth Manning-Sanders