On the great walls of ancient cloisters were nailed Murals displaying Truth the saint, Whose effect, reheating the pious entrails Brought to an austere chill a warming paint. ...
The ancient cloisters on their lofty walls Had holy Truth in painted frescoes shown, And, seeing these, the pious in those halls Felt their cold, lone austereness less alone. ...
Do you know, as I do, delicious sadness and make others say of you: 'Strange man!' I was dying. In my soul, singular illness, desire and horror were mingled as one: ...
As the carriage traversed the wood he bade the driver draw up in the neighbourhood of a shooting gallery, saying that he would like to have a few shots to kill time. Is not the slaying of the monster Time the most ordinary and ...
Twisting and writhing like a snake on fiery sands, Kneading her breast against her corset's metal bands, The woman, meanwhile, from her mouth of strawberry Let flow these fragrant words of musky mystery:...
Oh moon our fathers worshipped, their love discreet, from the blue country's heights where the bright seraglio, the stars in their sweet dress, go treading after you, my ancient Cynthia, lamp of my retreat, ...
The Moon more indolently dreams to-night Than a fair woman on her couch at rest, Caressing, with a hand distraught and light, Before she sleeps, the contour of her breast. ...
City of swarming, city full of dreams Where ghosts in daylight tug the stroller's sleeve! Mysteries everywhere run like the sap That fills this great colossus' conduits. ...
O swarming city, city full of dreams, Where in a full day the spectre walks and speaks; Mighty colossus, in your narrow veins My story flows as flows the rising sap. ...
Poor Muse, alas, what ails thee, then, to-day? Thy hollow eyes with midnight visions burn, Upon thy brow in alternation play, Folly and Horror, cold and taciturn. ...
Muse of my heart, lover of palaces, When January comes with wind and sleet, During the snowy eve's long weariness, Will there be fire to warm thy violet feet?
Old monasteries under steadfast walls Displayed tableaux of holy Verity, Warming the inner men in those cold halls Against the chill of their austerity. ...
Madonna, mistress, I would build for thee An altar deep in the sad soul of me; And in the darkest corner of my heart, From mortal hopes and mocking eyes apart, Carve of enamelled blue and gold a shrine...
Your feet are as slender as hands, your hips, to me, wide enough for the sweetest white girl's envy: to the wise artist your body is sweet and dear, and your great velvet eyes black without peer....