Emile Nelligan (1879-1941)


It has snowed, oh, how it has snowed!
My window’s blooming, a garden of frost.
It has snowed and it has snowed…
The spur of life seems all but lost
To this agony in me, in me…

Every lake is gripped by ice. Where am I,
And which way, through my soul’s black night?
All my hopes are cold, bled dry:
I am the new North, the Arctic heights
From which the midnight sun has fled.

Nelligan, Emile (translated by Clarissa Aykroyd)


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