#albert samain

[satinea]

Le jardin nu sourit comme une face aimée

Qui vous dit longuement adieu, quand la mort vient ;

Seul, le son d’une enclume ou l’aboiement d’un chien

Monte, mélancolique, à la vitre fermée.

Automne / Albert Samain

&

Savourer le repos

[mysterium-solis]

Illustration by Carlos Schwabe for Albert Samain’s Au Jardin de l'Infante (1895)

[larosesolitaire]

Le tendre désespoir des roses envolées.

Albert Samain, Automne (Le Chariot d’or)

[ma-pi-ma]

Quando siete in preda al pessimismo, guardate una rosa.

Albert Samain

[thefugitivesaint]

Carlos Schwabe (1866-1926), ''Au jardin de l'infante'' by Albert Samain, 1909 Source

[aschenblumen]

Nadia Boulanger, Élégie. Texto de Albert Samain. Melinda Paulsen, mezzosoprano Angela Gassenhuber, piano

[squeakowl]

THE sky weeps white tears that freeze On the rosy days that are dead; And Cupids with chapped skin red, And broken pinions, are fled Shivering under the trees. The falling evenings have died, That we dreamed in the cascade spray. Les Angéliques, where are they! And their souls, that were ever at play, And their hearts with ribbons tied?... The wind in the wild-wood rages, In the leafage where lovers, wooing, Bemoaned their heart's undoing, And wove their vows with the cooing Of the languorous turtles in cages. The turtles are dead like the leaves, The flutes and the violins sigh No more, under leaves as they lie, Sounds sweeter than words are which die Along the irresolute eves. This melody--hark!--the farewell Of the last oboe from the core Of the forest ere it be frore, As if all the days of yore Drop by drop in the spirit fell. O glinting satins, O white Powdered hair, O muslins fine, O Miranda! O Rosaline! Under the stars crystalline, O dream of the blue ashen night! O how the brutal wind on the doors as he passes knocks! The shepherdesses are dead, all, and the shepherds in their smocks. Dead is the gallant folly, And the Beauty who slept in the holly, Deep in its age-tangled bowers; And dead are the sweet-scented flowers! And thou, O melancholy, Pale sister of reveries, rise, Moon of the dead rose skies.

Albert Samain, Winter

[fleuromanie]

Mon âme est un velours douloureux que tout froisse, / Et je sens en mon coeur lourd d'ineffable angoisse / Je ne sais quoi de doux, qui voudrait bien mourir...

Albert Samain, “Soir”