with no swan and no pier
reflects its desuetude
in my gaze withdrawn here
from the vain pomp too high
for anyone to hold
mottling many a sky
with sunset's varied gold
but languorously skirt
like cast-off drapery
of white some fleeting bird
if nearby joyously
your naked bliss should plumb
the wave that you become.
by Stéphane Mallarmé
translated by E.H. & A.M. Blackmore
