On this Monday 29 March, the 17th (and last) day of the "Spring of Poets", we share one of the favourite poems of the President of the Congress of Local and Regional Authorities, Leen Verbeek. Baudelaire, with whom we opened this poetic stroll, would undoubtedly have appreciated it if we had ended it with a peer he admired (and whose 'Extraordinary Stories' he translated into French): Edgar Allan Poe. 

 

"The Happiest Day, The Happiest Hour"

The happiest day – the happiest hour

My seared and blighted heart hath known

The highest hope of pride and power

I feel hath flown.

 

Of power! Sais I? Yes! Such I ween

But they have vanished long, alas!

The visions of my youth have been –

But let them pass.

 

And pride, what have I now with thee?

Another brow may ev’n inherit

The venom thou hast poured on me-

Be still my spririt!

 

The happiest day – the happiest hour

Mine eyes shall see – have ever seen

The brightest glance of pride and power

I feel have been:

 

But were that hope of pride and power

Now offered with the pain

Ev’n than I felt – that brightest hour

I would not live again:

 

For on its wing was dark alloy

And as it fluttered – fell

An essence – powerfull to destroy

A soul that knew it well.

Edgar Allan Poe