Bonsoir j'ai un dm pour demain il s'agit de ecrire un poeme en anglais sur un lieux n'importe lequel

Strike again, Jupiter, overwhelm me, maim

The fallen enemy that you know powerless!

To crush is not to vanquish, and your thunderbolt is useless

Will be extinguished in my blood,

Before having tamed the heroic thought

Which makes the old Titan a divine rebel;

She's the one who braves you, and your insane rage

Nailed on these mountains only a simulacrum vain.

Your blows have only been on a little clay;

Free in the bonds of this fragile flesh,

The soul of Prometheus escapes your fury.

Under the nail of the vulture that endlessly devours me,

An invisible love makes you throb again

The shreds of my heart.

If those desolate peaks that the storm besieges

Have seen flowing sometimes on their snow coat

Tears that my eyes could not hold,

You know, rocks, immovable walls

What horror, however, I felt flinching,

The source of my tears was in my bowels;

It is the compassion that made them spring.

It was not enough of my own martyrdom;

These open flanks, this breast that a divine arm tears

Is filled with pity for others unhappy.

I see them engaging in an eternal struggle;

The horrible image is there; I have before the pupil

The vision of the evils that will melt on them.

This distressing sight obsesses me and exasperates me.

Torture intolerable and always reborn,

My true, my only vulture is bitter thought

That nothing will tear these germs of miserre

That your hate has sown in their flesh and blood.

Yet, O Jupiter, man is your creature;

It was you who conceived it, it was you who formed it,

This deplorable, infirm, disarmed being,

For whom all is danger, fear, torture,

Who, in the narrow circle of his days shut up,

Strangles and struggles, hurts and laments.

Ah! when you cast it on the inclement ground,

You knew what plagues there were to attack him,

That one would dispute his place and his food,

That a breath would bring him down, that the blind Nature

In his indifference was going to bury him.

I found it nestled under some wet rock,

Or crawling in the woods, ghostly and timid specter

Who heard nothing but roaring and roaring,

Only hungry, only sad at the banquet of beings,

From the bottom of the waters, from the depths of the depths of the countryside

Trembling always to see an enemy arise.

Je l ai fait l'anné derniere