Spring 1949 • Vol. XI No. 2 Poetry |

To Be (Vivre)

We have each of us our hands to give If you took mine I would lead you far ahead I have lived several times and my features have changed After every new threshold I passed by My fathers' faith was born again Preserving for me its melting snow A promise of death and a promise of life A dream holding her fingers tight or relaxed Our age would always grant me new reasons To live for someone else And to feel in my heart the blood of her own heart A conscious lad I was and still remain When I see the girls so pale and blind and weak Attractive as the blond, delicate moon Worn by reflecting the cross-roads of life Pathway of moss and trees All mist and dew! AloneA growing life cannot mature there Wind, frost and rain must cradle it Till summer makes a man My strength, be present in all visible hands For death alone is so lonely From delight to fury and from fury to light I build myself through all creatures Through the land, the sky and the passing seasons I feel so yo

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