The Orange Tree in Bloom

Softer than water she was, than the soft water,
Fresher than streams, the orange tree in bloom.
And on that summer street, that forlorn street,
she left a piece of her life behind, and went.

First one must know how to suffer,
then how to love, then how to leave,
and then how to walk without thought …
Scent of the orange tree in bloom,
vain promises of love, lost in the wind …

And then? What do I care for ‘and then’?
My whole life is the yesterday,
keeping me trapped in the past,
eternal and agéd youth
that left me disheartened
as a sightless bird.

What can my hands have done?
What can they have done to her,
to leave such a pain in my breast?
Pain of the tree-lined avenue,
street-corner song,
with a small piece of life:
the orange tree in bloom.






Author / Auteur :
Translation / Traduction / Übersetzung / Traducción : Peter Dahm Robertson