Alone on the rampart, a guard
Stands, motionless with a golden edge,
The crescent of his halberd
On the sky of the sleeping night.
Under this sky, half dark, half red
Calm, like the rope on the gallows,
Without its shadow moving,
The old lansquenet keeps watch.
I want in the skull of brave
Make a caesura of blood
And fold my slave rhymes
Under the dazzling standard!
And I want, when in the melee ,
To the role of the last bugles,
Death, this starry beggar,
Will kiss the blood from my forehead,
Like a life of success ,
-So that leading the Flag
In the battles I rise again. -
We're making a drum out of my skin!

INVIA LE CORREZIONI