L’horloge

Frightening, impassive, sinister, the clock

Raises his finger like a threat: Remember!

Your heart becomes a target: griefs past number

Aimed at its quivering centre, strike and stick.

Pleasure evaporates: will disappear,

Fade like a dancer as the stage goes dark.

Your joys are rationed: each one leaves its mark:

Devours you, and diminishes your share.

Three thousand and six hundred times an hour

An insect voice reminds you like a rhyme:

“I’m now.” Then, “I am once upon a time —

A filthy tube through which your life will pour.”

“Souviens-toi. Remember.” Unsparing! “Esto memor.”

(My metal throat speaks all the languages)

“Don’t lose your chance, and don’t be frivolous.

Extract the gold; treat minutes like an ore.”

Time is a gambler who can’t stop. Remember!

He always wins and doesn’t need to cheat.

The gulf is thirsty; sands are running out;

Day fades. The night draws in. It is December.

The hours will strike: Chance, the Divinity.

Or Virtue, your distinguished virgin spouse,

Or even Remorse, the last room in the house,

Or everything, will say: “Too late now. Die!”