I often make this strange and penetrating dream
Of an unknown woman, and that I like, and who likes me
And which is not, each time, nor completely the same one
Nor completely another, and likes me and includes/understands me.
Because it includes/understands me, and my heart, transparency
For it only, alas! Cease being a problem
For it only, and moistnesses of my pale face,
It only can refresh them, while crying.
Is it brown, fair or russet-red? - I am unaware of it.
Its name? I remember that it is soft and sound
As those of liked that the Life exiled.
Its glance is similar taking into consideration statue,
And, for its voice, remote, and calms, and serious, it has
The inflection of the expensive voices which are kill.
Paul VERLAINE (1844-1896)
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