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To the Friend

to-the-friend

In your Eyes

In your eyes the overly brutal clarity is dulled.
Your smooth forehead, like dazzling vellum,
Splashed with the scarlet and gold of the image,
Burns your opaline gaze with russet reflections.
Your face has for me the charm of dead flowers,
And the impoverished breath of the lilies you bring me Rises
towards your languor of the declining sun.

Let's flee, Serenity of my bruised hours,
Deep in the fruitless and weary twilight.
In the wrapping of tender vapours,
In the evening irritates, I will tell you very low.
What was the beauty of the unique Mistress…
Ah! this bitter perfume, this bitter music
Overwhelmed happiness that will not return!

So we will long disturb the peace of the ashes.
I will say words of passion to you, and you,
The dream elsewhere, for a long time, with your vague tender eyes,
You will follow your past of suffering and dread.
Your voice will have the song of slow litanies
Where the echo of infinite complaints sobs,
And your soul, the painful rise of Faith.

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