11 SEPTEMBER 1942, Page 11

RECUEILLEMENT

BE still, my Grief, and 0 my Grief, be stayed.

You wanted Evening, Evening is near: The town is folded in an airy shade, Bringer of peace to mortals, and of fear ; Mortals, of whom a multitude, arrayed By Pleasure, with his whip and hangman's gear, Gather remorse in menial masquerade ; Come, my dear Grief, give me your hand, and here Withdrawn from them, watch every dead Year lean From heaven's balcony, in her crinoline ; Regret rise smiling from her deep sea bed ; Watch the Sun dying in a vaulted trance, And, like a long shroud in the East outspread, Hear, darling Grief, the gentle Night advance.

JOHN MAVROGORDATO.

_Translation from Baudelaire.