In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.

It was the voice of mad seas, roaring immense,/ That shattered your infant breast, too soft, too human.

I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.

Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.

Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.

And from then on, I bathed in the Poem of the Sea, star-infused, and opalescent, devouring green azures

O seasons, O castles, What soul is without flaws? All its lore is known to me, Felicity, it enchants us all.