from Paul Valéry
When the sky the colour of a cheek
at last allows eyes to cherish it
and when at the gilded point of dying
among roses time takes place,
before one mute with pleasure
enchained by such a painting,
there dances a Shade in a trailing girdle
the evening comes close to catching.
This girdle wandering
in aerial breath
makes the last link tremble
between my silence and this world…
Absent, present… I am truly alone,
and downcast, o sweet-talking shroud.