La Traviata Poem

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic


A poem about Verdi's opera, La Traviata, or The Fallen Woman.

Submitted: August 28, 2018

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Submitted: August 28, 2018

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A rose so sweet with petals all in bloom

Tis but a small gesture of impending doom.

Violetta Valery, pretty and gay,

A lady of charm whose charms will take

Many a good man, noble and true,

Many a dark man, by whom is stolen her virtue.

But this pious beauty has a secret, growing like the flower buds,

Her illness takes its toll and she will die in her own blood.

Yet, within her house comes another, kind true and bold,

A nobleman answering to the name Alfredo.

“Love is mysterious” falls from his lips

And with Violeta he shares a kiss.

But not for the faintest of hearts is she.

No. This courtesan declares: “Sempre libera”. She will be free.

Till time has gone by and to her own shock,

The lovely girl has traded in her wealthy frock.

For love is chosen a simple new life, full of pleasure and promise.

A life of patience, speaking words faithful and honest.

But like all tragic tales with Fate dealing the cards, now this love story is torn apart.

Germont, a distinguished old Sir, declares his intentions as Alfredo’s father.

“My daughter will be wed but with you as our kin, her honor is poisoned, undone by sin.

For the sake of my child, and an old man’s woe, you must leave Alfredo. ”

“Please, I beg!” Violetta cries. “Let me stay with Alfredo or I shall die.”

Upon reflection does she relent, kneeling to repent.

“This I will do, for the sake of your daughter. Yet, my heart is slaughtered.”

Violetta then cries to Alfredo in woe, “Adio my love. Adio.”

As time passes and the two are estranged, Violetta resumes her love charade.

But even then, her heart will not eschew, as she swears to Alfredo, “To you I am true”.

The darkness closes in and with fever soaking her sheets, Violetta in agony weeps.

Till her beloved rushes to her side, but it is too late. Now has Violetta run out of Time.

“Oh joy, oh life and love to last!”

The story is done. Her soul has passed.

A rose so sweet with petals in bloom

Now it has withered in impending doom.

 


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