Treasure Island

Stéphane Mallarmé

(1842-1898 / France)

Sigh


Towards your brow my soul oh gentle sister,
where there dreams
An autumn strewn with ruddy streaks
And towards the wandering sky of your
angelic eye
Climbs upward, as in a melancholy garden,
Faithful, a white spray of water sighing
towards the sky!
Towards a sky softened by pure and
pale October
That reflects its infinite languor in great
formal pools
And deigns, on the stagnant water where the
tawny agony
Of the leaves wanders with the wind and hollows
out a frigid furrow,
To be drawn away by the tall beam of the
yellow sun.

Submitted: Friday, April 02, 2010

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