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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
RHENISH AUTUMN; TO TOUSSAINT LUCA, by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE Poem Explanation Poet's Biography First Line: The children of the dead are going to play / in the graveyard Last Line: Was the color of the autumn chestnuts Alternate Author Name(s): Kostrowitzky, Wilhelm Apollina Subject(s): Autumn; Children; Death; Mourning; Seasons; Fall; Childhood; Dead, The; Bereavement | |||
The children of the dead are going to play In the graveyard Martin Gertrude Hans and Henri No cock has crowed today Kikiriki The old women All in tears are proceeding And the good burros Bray heehaw and start to munch the flowers Of the funeral wreaths This is the day of the dead and of all their souls The children and the old women Light candles and tapers On each catholic grave The veils of the old women The clouds in the sky Are like the beards of she-goats The air trembles with flames and prayer The graveyard is a beautiful garden Full of hoary willows and rosemary Often they are friends who are buried here Ah! how blessed you are in the beautiful graveyard You beggars who died drunkards You who are eyeless as Fate And you children who died as you prayed Ah! how blessed you are in the beautiful graveyard You burgomasters you seamen And you counselors of state And you gypsies without passport Life is rotting your belly We stumble on the cross at our feet The owls hoot and the moaning wind from the Rhine Blows out the tapers which the children light again and again And the dead leaves Come to cover the dead Dead children now and then speak with their mother And dead women now and then long to come back Oh! I do not want you to return The autumn is full of disembodied hands No no these are dead leaves They are the hands of the dear dead They are your disembodied hands We have wept so much today With these dead their children and the old women Under a sunless sky In the graveyard full of flames Then we had to turn back into the wind At our feet the chestnuts rolled And their burrs were Like the wounded heart of the Madonna We wondered if her skin Was the color of the autumn chestnuts | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HUNGERFIELD by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE MOURNER by LOUISE MOREY BOWMAN HECUBA MOURNS by MARILYN NELSON THERE IS NO GOD BUT by AGHA SHAHID ALI IF I COULD MOURN LIKE A MOURNING DOVE by FRANK BIDART AUTUMN by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE |
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