Méry, the dreamerGroup of Mr. L…, July 4
th, 1866 – medium Mr. Vavasseur
Still a newborn on your shores
I heard an attentive woman
Say while watching my awakening:
Do not disturb his sweet sleep,
He's dreaming; and I was barely born!
A little later, when in the prairie,
Stripping the leaves of a flowering clover,
It was said that Joseph Méry
Was dreaming, and when my poor mother
Sat me on the white stone
That guarded the edge of the stream,
She also said: Dream again,
My child. Later, in college,
Out of hatred or contempt, what do I know!
All my friends were running away,
And left me alone, in a corner,
Dreaming. And when the mad drunkenness
Pleasures troubled my youth,
The crowd pointed at me
Saying: It is Méry, yes,
Still dreaming. And when, wiser,
Almost halfway through the journey,
I was judged as a writer,
They said of me: It's in vain
That he evokes poetry
In his verses, it's dream
That comes to his call. Méry,
Whatever he does, will be Méry.
And when the last prayer
Had blessed my cold dust,
Attentive under my shroud,
I heard one word, only one:
Dreamer! Well! yes, I dreamt
On Earth. Why silence, then,
A dream that is not over,
And that I start again here!
Joseph Méry
