The Ancestor

The ancient man was laying cold,
Dying on the white, white sheets;
His face was ninety long years old,
His heart was pumping its last beats,
When suddenly his voice began
Reciting seasons of the man:
The decades that had drifted past,
The pleasures that escaped too fast,
The agonies that seemed to last.

Is this a dream, or memory?
I see morningsful of sun,
Fermenting sap inside the tree,
Forgotten youth forever done.
Is this a dream, or memory
Of times that nevermore can be?
I remember, I recall
The summer fading into fall,
I remember, I recall.

Is this a dream, or memory?
Breezes scattering my hair,
Desire that rises wild in me,
With every throbbing gust of air.
Is this a dream, or memory
Of April wind to set me free?
I remember, I recall,
Those April years I see them all,
I remember, I recall.

Is this a dream, or memory?
Listen to the noise inside
My chest it s pounding like the sea,
My thoughts are drowning in the tide.
Is this a dream, or memory?
I walk a beach in far Eternity,
I remember, I recall
I hear my forebears ghosts that call!
I remember, I recall.
05-26-78
by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893)
First English translation
from Des Vers (1880)