La dormeuse. The Sleeping Girl

THE SLEEPING GIRL

To Lucien Fabre.

WHAT secrets in her heart are burning my young friend, Soul through this soft mask aspiring to be a flower? From what vain nutriments do her naive flushes Create all this radiance in a sleeping woman?

Breathing, dreams, quietness, invincible respite, You victories, o peace more powerful than a tear, When from this deepest sleep the waters grave and vast Conspire upon the breast of such an enemy.

Sleeping girl, golden mass of shadows and abandons, Your redoubtable repose is laden with such gifts, O hind who with languor lingers close to a bunch, That despite the absent soul, occupied with its hells, Your form as pure womb where a fluid arm is draped, Keeps watch; your form keeps watch, and my eyes are open.