The beautiful is joy forever:
His charm grows and he never comes back
To nothing, keep us silent
Impregnable refuge and a rest
Full of breath, dreams, appetites.
That's why every day we stick
Garlands that bind us to the earth,
Despite our discouragement and absence
Of noble souls, to the day darkened,
To all the impudent paths
Which we resort to; True, despite this,
Some beautiful form removes the veil
Of our dark temple: carving moon,
The sun, the trees that give twilight
To cattle, or such daffodils
With its humid universe or rivers
Who build their fresh entablature
Against the hot summer; Or the fern
Sprinkled with rose scent.
And such are also the dreadful ones
Forms that we attribute to the dead,
Stories we hear or read
As an eternal fountain whose waters
From the edge of the heavens they came to us.
And we do not feel these beings alone
For a short time; No but how
The trees of a temple soon join
His being to the temple itself, thus the moon,
Poetry and its infinite glories
What a joyous light we are charmed
The soul and seduce us with such force
That there be shade or light upon the earth,
If they do not accompany us we are dead.
So, with joy, I mean
The story of Endymion
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