The vertigo comes down at last. My soul,
I feel, annihilates itself. I'm cold.
I sit before my window, with my brains
In stupid leaden rest. Across the panes
I ponder, with a ghastly, tranquil sight.
The moon, perched on the holy temple's height
Appears, kerchiefed with light, russet and pale--
The specter of a nun with bloody veil.
II
Ce vertige à la fin tombe..... et je sens mon être
S’anéantir : - j’ai froid - et, devant ma fenêtre,
Je vais m’asseoir ; le plomb d’un stupide repos
Emmantèle mes sens : à travers les carreaux,
D’un œil horriblement tranquille, je contemple
La lune qui, juchée au faîte du saint temple,
Semble, sous le bandeau de sa rousse clarté,
Le spectre d’une nonne au voile ensanglanté.
It's not a given that Dondey has a Christian church in mind, so converting "height" to "spire" would involve some license on my part. Still, I can't shake the feeling that instead of sight/height in lines 21-22, there's some more poetic couplet involving ?/spire.
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