Laure, Poem by bernard chenier

IT is a wild small valley or sound the tocsin;
Above the source a naked woman bends.
It is the suspended laughing hamadryade to waved it.
Touching lightly a shy foot the cold water of the basin.
the love seizes Laure's body that was girt some on,
In the shooting wave where gamboled his/her white flesh
Of his/her body bare of the froth, emerge a hip,
Of his/her clear hair, a chest or the rose of a breast.
A divine gaîté fills the big wood sinks.
But two games, suddenly, illuminated the shade.
On his/her face his/her/its laughter, and the love and their games;
They spring. Such, when a sinister raven
Croak, on the stream bewilderedly snowy,
And the flight of the swans, with the love as the filter.