The Sages of old time, all still highly acclaimed,
Believed -- although never really well explained --
That destinies in Heaven written are,
And every soul depends upon a star.
(Many have mocked -- without remembering
That laughter oft is a misguiding thing --
This explanation of mysterious nocturnal display).
Now all that are born under SATURN’s sway, --
Pale planet, to the Necromancer dear, --
Inherit, ancient magic-books make it clear,
Good share of spleen, good share of wretchedness.
Their imagination, fearful and vigorless,
Makes all resolves of reason vain.
The blood within them, subtle as a bane,
Bright as lava, running thinly, is ravaging
Their sad ideals, all now vanishing.
Such must those born under Saturn suffer and must die, --
For mortality we do imply, --
Their lives being ordered in this dismal sense
By logic of a malign Influence.
Paul Verlaine, ‘Poemes Saturniens’, 1866 (translation C.C.)
Paul Verlaine (1844 - 1896), French poet