The Eyeglasses.

Of gold, purple, and opal, the great reflectors, Reflecting the day's decline in colors, Left the peasant Simon pensive;

In his eyes thus a tear shines.

That immense glow in his soul swarms And a deep feeling invades his heart. Simon is not a man of science, He knows not matter nor the mechanical laws; But he has more in good sense; he has conscience; He is intelligent and modest at once. In the fervor of his reverie, Such names he murmured: Soul, God, Creator, When the laugh of someone with mockery came to him, Arose at his side. Who was the scoffer? It was his lord son!… A youth still beardless, But already graduated… who as a scholar exalts himself. - Boy, I admire the splendor Of this harmonious scene, so grandiose, I see it in my heart, I believe with love. - And the son, with irony, exalted and vain: You see it, you say it, and you believe it… very well! As for me I see nothing and there is nothing more to it. - With jests or knavish witticisms, Opinionated and insistent in granting himself reason, The young bachelor of arts then gazed at space, With his opaque eyeglasses.

Materialist learned ones, To the lists of the pretentious such as these you belong, Are not your fallible, incomplete demonstrations In your eyeglasses?

Dombre.