The French poet, Paul Verlaine (1844-1896), never dreamed of the role he would play in a great drama that would take place exactly 100 years after his birth. Seventy-five years ago today, the French Underground tensely awaited the great signal that the Allied invasion of Normandy -- the greatest amphibious operation in history -- was immanent. This signal was the first stanza of Verlaine's poem, Chanson d'automne.
Les sanglots longs
Des violons
De l'automne
Blessent mon coeur
D'une langueur
Monotone.
Tout suffocant
Et blême, quand
Sonne l'heure,
Je me souviens
Des jours anciens
Et je pleure
Et je m'en vais
Au vent mauvais
Qui m'emporte
Deçà, delà,
Pareil à la
Feuille morte.
The long sobs
Of the violins
Of autumn
Wound my heart
With a languor
Monotonous.
All suffocating
And pale when
The hour strikes
I remember
The old days
And weep
And I go away
In the ill wind
that carries me off
This side and beyond
Like the
Dead leaf.
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