appearance by Stephane Mallarme

The moon is sad. S?raphins of crying
R?vant, the bow fingers, in the quiet of flowers
Misty, drew from dying viols
Whites tears sliding the blue corollas.
-It was the day of your first kiss b?ni.
My dream ? magnet torturing me
got drunk cleverly scent of sadness
That even without regret leaving d?boire
Cueillaison the heart of a dream that was picked.
So I wandered the eye riv? on pav? aged
When the sun with hair in the street
And in the evening, thou art laughing appeared
And I thought I saw the fairy's hat clart?
That once on my beautiful child sleeps g?t?
Happening, always leaving his hands badly ferm?es
Bouquets of white snow ?toiles parfum?es.

by Stephane Mallarme

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