Translation of L‘Impossible’ by Marceline Desbordes-Valmore :
We will restore the days when life takes wing ,
And soars , a very skylark , to the skies ,
When so much brightness dazzles in her eyes
She falls , she drowns amid the flowers of spring .
Those flowers that scent her nest , her soul , her dream ,
And gloss her feathers at the sun’s first gleam !
God ! for one thread of gold to knit my hours ,
One splinter of that prism rainbow-gay .
That dreaming deep in those sweet days , sweet flowers ,
I might be free , a child born yesterday .
Then in my mother’s love my future slept ;
Then death among my kin was still unknown ;
All lived for me , vain child , for me alone ;
My life was paradise , regained or kept .
I loved , but what I loved I could not name ;
My heart beat high with joy , I knew not why ;
For me all nature then was scent and flame ;
I yearned to clasp those days . . . too long gone by .
3 April 1953
Spectator competition No.216 Set by J. M. Cohen to be received by April 1