Paul Verlen’s “Autumn Song” analysis

Paul Verlen

Paul Verlaine’s “Autumn Song” analysis will help you prepare for the lesson and find out what the author wanted to convey to the reader.

Paul Verlen’s “Autumn Song” analysis

The author is Paul Verlaine

Year of publication – 1866.

Collection – Saturnic Poetry

Cycle – Sad Landscapes

The poem consists of three stanzas, six four-line strings each. It is one of the most musical works of the poet. Verlaine achieves a special melody through alliteration and sound. For example, in the first stanza there is an alliteration “l”, “n” and an allonance “on”;

The poem of French poet Paul Verlaine’s “Autumn Song” is filled with sadness and sadness. The author compares the mood of the protagonist and the autumn when nature fades, and the wind rips the dead leaf from the branch. You can also describe the mental state of the hero – his soul, as a leaf, breaks down and flies into the gray distance. Everything around becomes imperceptible and gloomy. The author remembers the years of his youth and tears come to his eyes. It shows autumn not as a golden time, but as a sunset of life when nature fades.

The emotional background of the poem creates a melody of each line – sad, disturbing, easy. Strings of autumn violins excite the soul. Seasons change, people change, their feelings. Autumn is a time of rethinking the past, adjusting to new events and experiences.

The main images of poetry – autumn, wind, leaves, strings, clock, violin – have deep symbolic meaning.

Autumn in this poem is portrayed not only as a season, but also as a mourning, a fatigue, the loss of something beautiful, the end approaching. Why is the lyricist sad, why is he longing for the past? Who knows… The poem does not accidentally show a symbolic image of a clock that counts the instant.

The dry leaf of the autumn of November becomes the soul of the lyrical hero, who came under the power of the fatal fate.

“Autumn Song” text

When a sighing begins
In the violins
Of the autumn-song,
My heart is drowned
In the slow sound
Languorous and long

Pale as with pain,
Breath fails me when
The hours toll deep.
My thoughts recover
The days that are over,
And I weep.

And I go
Where the winds know,
Broken and brief,
To and fro,
As the winds blow
A dead leaf.

(R.T. Smith)