APPEARANCE
The moon is despondent. Serafini weeping
The bow up in a dream from dying violets
dragged in the calm of fluffy flowers, the petals in sobs
Bianchi blue pallor.
- It was the holy day of our first kiss.
Fantasy, whose martyrdom has always are,
intoxicated wise the scent of sadness
That leaves without regret and without bitterness
The harvest of a dream that has taken to heart.
So I wandered, the eye of the old stones harvested by
When, with the sun shining on her hair,
And in the evening, you appeared to me smiling, And I saw the fairy
hooded light that once on my
sleep happy child
already passed, leaving, by his beautiful hands,
Snow white flowers fragrant stars.
The bow up in a dream from dying violets
dragged in the calm of fluffy flowers, the petals in sobs
Bianchi blue pallor.
- It was the holy day of our first kiss.
Fantasy, whose martyrdom has always are,
intoxicated wise the scent of sadness
That leaves without regret and without bitterness
The harvest of a dream that has taken to heart.
So I wandered, the eye of the old stones harvested by
When, with the sun shining on her hair,
And in the evening, you appeared to me smiling, And I saw the fairy
hooded light that once on my
sleep happy child
already passed, leaving, by his beautiful hands,
Snow white flowers fragrant stars.
Stephane Mallarme
Appearance
The moon was sad. Seraphim crying
Dreaming, bow in hand, in the quiet flowers
misty, drew from dying viols
White sobs slipped on the blue corollas.
- was the blessed day of your first kiss. My reverie
magnet torture me drunk
cleverly scent of sadness
That even without regret and disappointment leaves
cueillaison The Dream of a heart that was picked. So I wandered
, eyes riveted on the pavement with old
When the sun in your hair, on the street
And in the evening, you appeared to me, laughing
And I thought I saw the fairy hat clarity
Who once on my beautiful sleep of a spoiled child
past, leaving his hands still ajar
Snow white bouquets of fragrant stars.
Dreaming, bow in hand, in the quiet flowers
misty, drew from dying viols
White sobs slipped on the blue corollas.
- was the blessed day of your first kiss. My reverie
magnet torture me drunk
cleverly scent of sadness
That even without regret and disappointment leaves
cueillaison The Dream of a heart that was picked. So I wandered
, eyes riveted on the pavement with old
When the sun in your hair, on the street
And in the evening, you appeared to me, laughing
And I thought I saw the fairy hat clarity
Who once on my beautiful sleep of a spoiled child
past, leaving his hands still ajar
Snow white bouquets of fragrant stars.
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