She said, in her profound manner, "I love you for yourself alone!" -Dear me! a high-pitched narrative; Yes, like art! Calm yourself, oh illusory reward Of the capitalist Ideal! She proceeded: "I am waiting, I am here, I don't know . . ." Her look copied from these large candors of moons; -Dear me! it is not perhaps for plum-prunes, That these classes are given here below? But now on a fine evening, unfortunate to a nicety, She dies! -Dear me! good, a change of theme! Everyone knows that you should arise on the third Day, if not in person, at least In the smell, the verdure, the waters of the fine months! And you will go on, arousing still many more dupes Towards the Veil of La Gioconda, towards the Skirt! It will even be possible that I may be among them. |