Treasure Island

Paul Eluard

(14 December 1895 – 18 November 1952 / Saint Denis / Paris)

The Beloved


She is standing on my eyelids
And her hair is wound in mine,
She has the form of my hands,
She has the colour of my eyes,
She is swallowed by my shadow
Like a stone against the sky

Her eyes are always open
And will not let me sleep.
Her dreams in broad daylight
Make the suns evaporate
Make me laugh, cry and laugh,
Speak with nothing to say

Submitted: Wednesday, April 07, 2010

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