Le Soulier de la Morte

This fragile gray and gold shoe,
With silk loops perfumed,
Like a mysterious cameo,
In my hands, tonight, it sleeps.

Just now I found it
Lying at the back of a drawer...
Little shoe of old-fashioned style,
Shoe of memory... Hail! -

Since she left,
Led to Chopin's steps,
To sleep forever beneath this pine
In the cold and mournful lane,

I've been crushed all year
Under a burden of iron,
Living like I'm in hell,
Like a poor damned soul.

And now, heart full of darkness,
This vigil of December,
I find it at the back of my room,

Shoe that her foot let fall.
This one was left to me,
The other is surely with the angels...

And I run barefoot through the muck...
My soul is a worn-out shoe.