David Mitchell Poems

Le printemps — la saison quand l'agréable tiédeur
Recommence, apportant avec lui son bonheur,
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The stars adorn the heaven at night,
They beautify with gleaming light
The sky of dismal hue;
They shiver in the icy cold,
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That is what I firmly believe.
I understand that some people find it hard to believe in God.
So do we all, at times.
We are human beings.
...

Hail, magical and awe-inspiring bean,
Salvation of the fat and of the lean,
Blest refuge in this wretched vale of tears,
Inspiriting the ever-rolling years;
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It is the part of the poet
To tell his readers
What they already know
and know they know
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If what follows this life
Is a heaven without suffering,
Where the recollection of past suffering
Does not induce present suffering;
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Slender, swimming, silent swan!
How gracefully you glide along!
Your coat of white, purer than snow;
You see, with lofty eyes, to grow
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The shining summer ages, dwindles, dies;
The heat turns to the cold.
The former azure hue of yonder skies
Is hardly to behold:
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As languidly my feet plod home,
My thoughts the universe o'er-roam;
The silent stillness still inspires
A muteness of Cimmerian choirs
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We exist: of that no sane person does doubt,
Although there may pseudophilosophers be,
...