It Is Easy To Promise, And Alas!

Life Is A Deep Sleep Of Which Love Is The Dream

As All The Perfumes Of The Vanished Dayrise From The Earth Still Moistened With The Dewso From My Chastened Soul Beneath Thy Rayold Love Is Born Anew.

Know That There Is Often Hidden In Us A Dormant Poet, Always Young And Alive.

I Could Not Clearly Distinguish What Was Passing In My Head; It Seemed To Me That I Was Under The Influence Of A Horrible Dream And That I Had But To Awake To Find Myself Cured; At Times It Seemed That My Entire Life Had Been A Dream, Ridiculous And Childish, The Falseness Of Which Had Just Been Disclosed.

I Deeply Wished I Could Make The Stars All Come Down And Breathe Them; Disappear In Them