THE SWAN (fragment)

Blue pupil of my park
In the sensitive mirror
Of a clear lake, very clear...
So clear that sometimes I believe
Upon its crystalline page
My thoughts are printed.

Flower of the air, flower of the water,
The soul of the lake is a swan
With two human pupils,
Formal and gentle as a prince;
Lily wings, rosy sculls...
A fiery beak, a sad
And proud neck, and the whiteness
And the softness of a swan …

The candid and solemn bird
Has a wicked charm;
—A carnation dressed in lily,
It transcends in flame and miracle...
His white wings disturb me
Like two warm arms;
No lips have ever burned
As his beak in my hands;
No head has ever fallen
So languorous into my lap;
No flesh so alive
Have I ever suffered or enjoyed;
In his veins crawl
Philters two times human.