HOME | DD

Description
Spontaneous drawing!!!
inspired by the poem i got this morning by Alfred de Musset from my lovely friend

For her beautiful soul and For being her
am Blessed to know her
and so, i would like to dedicate this drawing for her

Hope she likes it

The poem has very deep meaning

What sorrow is it that your youth suffers?
Let it grow, this holy wound
That the black angels have given your heart
Nothing makes us so great as a great sorrow
But, for it to touch you, do not believe, O poet
That your voice here below must keep mute.
The most hopeless songs are the most beautiful
And I know the pure immortals sob.

When the pelican, departed on a long journey
In the evening mists returns to his reeds
His little starvelings running on the bank
To see him from afar dropping to the waters.
Already, thinking to seize and share their prey
They run to their father with joyous cries
Succoring their beaks on their terrible goitres
He, reaching with slow steps a raised rock
Protects his dangling throat from his brood,
Sad fisherman, he looks to the skies.

The blood runs in slow waves from his open chest
In vain has he plumbed the depths of the seas
The Ocean is empty and the shore deserted
To provide food for all he offers his heart.
Sombre and silent, straggled on the pebbles,
His sons share the father's flesh,
In his sublime love he soothes his sorrow
And, watching his bloody breast drop
On his death-feast he sinks and staggers
Drunk on pleasure, on tenderness and horror.

But sometimes, in such divine sacrifice,
Weary to death from too long pain
He fears that his children will not let him live
Then he raises himself, opens his throat to the wind
And, striking his heart with a wild cry,
He splits the night with such a sorrowful farewell
That the seagulls leave the shore
And the traveller on the beach is stayed,
Sensing his death, and commending him to God.
Poet, it is thus that great poets are made.

They leave those who live once to make themselves happy
But the generous dishes served at their feasts
Are in the main like those of the pelicans.
When they speak thus of false hopes
Of sadness and oblivion, love and misfortune
This isn't a reason to speed the heart
Their speeches are like sword-blades
They trace dazzling circles in the air
But there always hang some drips of blood

Thank you so much
Kay

Description
Spontaneous drawing!!!
inspired by the poem i got this morning by Alfred de Musset from my lovely friend

For her beautiful soul and For being her
am Blessed to know her
and so, i would like to dedicate this drawing for her

Hope she likes it

The poem has very deep meaning

What sorrow is it that your youth suffers?
Let it grow, this holy wound
That the black angels have given your heart
Nothing makes us so great as a great sorrow
But, for it to touch you, do not believe, O poet
That your voice here below must keep mute.
The most hopeless songs are the most beautiful
And I know the pure immortals sob.

When the pelican, departed on a long journey
In the evening mists returns to his reeds
His little starvelings running on the bank
To see him from afar dropping to the waters.
Already, thinking to seize and share their prey
They run to their father with joyous cries
Succoring their beaks on their terrible goitres
He, reaching with slow steps a raised rock
Protects his dangling throat from his brood,
Sad fisherman, he looks to the skies.

The blood runs in slow waves from his open chest
In vain has he plumbed the depths of the seas
The Ocean is empty and the shore deserted
To provide food for all he offers his heart.
Sombre and silent, straggled on the pebbles,
His sons share the father's flesh,
In his sublime love he soothes his sorrow
And, watching his bloody breast drop
On his death-feast he sinks and staggers
Drunk on pleasure, on tenderness and horror.

But sometimes, in such divine sacrifice,
Weary to death from too long pain
He fears that his children will not let him live
Then he raises himself, opens his throat to the wind
And, striking his heart with a wild cry,
He splits the night with such a sorrowful farewell
That the seagulls leave the shore
And the traveller on the beach is stayed,
Sensing his death, and commending him to God.
Poet, it is thus that great poets are made.

They leave those who live once to make themselves happy
But the generous dishes served at their feasts
Are in the main like those of the pelicans.
When they speak thus of false hopes
Of sadness and oblivion, love and misfortune
This isn't a reason to speed the heart
Their speeches are like sword-blades
They trace dazzling circles in the air
But there always hang some drips of blood

Thank you so much
Kay