Valvins. Valvins

VALVINS

IF you want to resolve the forest that cools you Happy, you yourself merged with the leaves, if you stay In the sweep of the skiff at all times literary, Trailing a few ardently situated suns

Upon the whiteness of its flank which the Seine strokes Tender, or foreseeing the afternoon has sung, Even as the great wood is drenching a long tress, And blending your sail with the best of the summer.

But always close to you whom the silence bequeaths The gathering cries of all the naked heavens, The shadow of some page scattered not from any book

Trembles, reflection of the wandering sail upon The powdery surface-skin of the green river Amidst the long regard of the opening Seine.