Eugène Pottier

ALREADY! Eugène Pottier To the citizen Paule Mink. At the break of day, the snow falls, Swirled by the air; A sheet of dove’s feathers Covers the deserted cobblestones. I soon passed that way again, Where wheels and men’s feet floundered; No more snow, alas! but slush!             Already! Was she yet fifteen? Certainly not! Not yet, but at the same time old. With a great tint to her face, But nothing of youth or spring. The dazed look in her eyes Told what vulture gnawed at her; I could sense the corpse in her,             Already! She was filthy […]