Cousin du chameau
Dans le désert, un nomade erre,
Je crois que c’est un dromadaire ;
Il ne connaît pas les vacances
Ni le repos hebdomadaire.
Dans le désert, un nomade erre,
Je crois que c’est un dromadaire ;
Il ne connaît pas les vacances
Ni le repos hebdomadaire.
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STILL I love to rhyme, and still more, rhyming, to wander
Far from the commoner way;
Old-time trills and falls by the brook-side still do I ponder,
Dreaming to-morrow to-day.
Come here, come, revive me, Sun-God, teach me, Apollo,
Measures descanted before;
Since I ancient verses, I emulous follow,
Prints in the marbles of yore.
Still strange, strange, they sound in old-young raiment invested,
Songs for the brain to forget –
Young song-birds elate to grave old temples benested
Piping and chirruping yet.
Thoughts? No thought has yet unskilled attempted to flutter
Trammelled so vilely in verse;
He who writes but aims at fame and his bread and his butter,
Won with a groan and a curse.
Stevenson
https://internetpoem.com/robert-louis-stevenson/still-i-love-to-rhyme-poem/
Je n’ai hélas pas trouvé de traduction
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Cousines et cousins
———————–
Pause en écriture ;
Gigantesque cousinade
Et quelques bouteilles.
Pierrette en Héraldie
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