High-heels were struggling with a full-length dress
So that, between the wind and the terrain,
At times a shining stocking would be seen,
And gone too soon. We liked that foolishness.
...
With long sobs
the violin-throbs
of autumn wound
my heart with languorous
...
Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville.
Quelle est cette langueur
Qui pénêtre mon coeur ?
...
Your soul is as a moonlit landscape fair,
Peopled with maskers delicate and dim,
That play on lutes and dance and have an air
...
Your soul is like a painter's landscape where
charming masks in shepherd mummeries
are playing lutes and dancing with an air
of being sad in their fantastic guise.
...
Leaf-strewing gales
Utter low wails
Like violins,--
Till on my soul
...
See, blossoms, branches, fruit, leaves I have brought,
And then my heart that for you only sighs;
...
You were not over-patient with me, dear;
This want of patience one must rightly rate:
You are so young! Youth ever was severe
...
Tears fall in my heart
Rain falls on the town;
what is this numb hurt
that enters my heart?...
...
Hope shines-as in a stable a wisp of straw.
Fear not the wasp drunk with his crazy flight!
Through some chink always, see, the moted light!
...
In the deserted park, silent and vast,
Erewhile two shadowy glimmering figures passed.
...
To you these lines for the consoling grace
Of your great eyes wherein a soft dream shines,
...
It weeps in my heart
As it rains on the town.
What is this dull smart
Possessing my heart?
...
Hills and fences hurry by
Blent in greenish-rosy flight,
And the yellow carriage-light
...
The keyboard, over which two slim hands float,
Shines vaguely in the twilight pink and gray,
Whilst with a sound like wings, note after note
...
Sleep, darksome, deep,
Doth on me fall:
Vain hopes all, sleep,
Sleep, yearnings all!
...
The trees' reflection in the misty stream
Dies off in livid steam;
Whilst up among the actual boughs, forlorn,
The tender wood-doves mourn.
...
I've seen again the One child: verily,
I felt the last wound open in my breast,
The last, whose perfect torture doth attest
...
Paul-Marie Verlaine (30 March 1844 – 8 January 1896) was a French poet associated with the Symbolist movement. He is considered one of the greatest representatives of the fin de siècle in international and French poetry. Born in Metz, he was educated at the Lycée impérial Bonaparte (now the Lycée Condorcet) in Paris and then took up a post in the civil service. He began writing poetry at an early age, and was initially influenced by the Parnassien movement and its leader, Leconte de Lisle. Verlaine's first published poem was published in 1863 in La Revue du progrès, a publication founded by poet Louis-Xavier de Ricard. Verlaine was a frequenter of the salon of the Marquise de Ricard at 10 Boulevard des Batignolles and other social venues, where he rubbed shoulders with prominent artistic figures of the day: Anatole France; Emmanuel Chabrier; inventor-poet and humorist Charles Cros; the cynical anti-bourgeois idealist Villiers de l'Isle-Adam; Theodore de Banville; François Coppée; Jose-Maria de Heredia; Leconte de Lisle; Catulle Mendes, and others. Verlaine's first published collection, Poèmes saturniens, though adversely commented upon by Sainte-Beuve, established him as a poet of promise and originality.)
The Young Fools (Les Ingénus)
High-heels were struggling with a full-length dress
So that, between the wind and the terrain,
At times a shining stocking would be seen,
And gone too soon. We liked that foolishness.
Also, at times a jealous insect's dart
Bothered out beauties. Suddenly a white
Nape flashed beneath the branches, and this sight
Was a delicate feast for a young fool's heart.
Evening fell, equivocal, dissembling,
The women who hung dreaming on our arms
Spoke in low voices, words that had such charms
That ever since our stunned soul has been trembling.
those verse are in «Aspiration», Paul Verlaine ('Premiers vers')
«Là, tous les sons rêvés, là, toutes les splendeurs Inabordables» There, all the sounds dreamed, there, all the splendors unaffordable
What about " la Lune blanche" ?