The desert! The desert in its immensity,

With its great voice, its wild beauty;

Its peaks touching the earth, its savannahs, its waves,

Cataracts rolling beneath deep forests;

Its thousand noises, its cries, its muffled roars,

Gigantic concert of all the elements!

The desert! The desert! When the eastern dawn

Rises, and makes the treasures it displays shine:

When the fragrant bud of the magnolia

Opens under the kisses of some beloved insect;

When the flowering vine, fragrant labyrinth,

Enfolds the palm tree in a loving embrace;

And when, rejoicing beneath these light panelings,

Living carbuncles sing the hummingbirds!

The American desert with all its graces,

When no mortal trace remained,

And with its great woods, its waters, its gold mines

It offered itself to Columbus' gaze, still virgin.

Ah! who has not dreamed of this beautiful nature;

Who would not have wanted to leave this world of imposture,

This world where every great heart ends up degrading itself,

To run to the desert, alive, to bury itself?

To seek in the Eden of Paul and Virginie

The ineffable happiness that the earth denies,

A vow of peace and love conceived by every heart,

And which vanishes, alas! always disappointed!

This is often my dream

In these moments of profound boredom.

Where despair, like a sword

Remains suspended on my brow.

The desert, the desert calls me,

Why these chains on my steps? Traveling birds, on your wings

Why don't you carry me away?

My numb soul needs

A new world to explore;

It needs an enlarged sphere

For the poet who is about to die!...

I hope you like this poem.

Sleep well, dear Sushama.

Françoise

PS: a photograph of the desert in the volcanic island of Lanzarote

See translation