Intérieur. Interior

INTERIOR

A slave with speaking eyes and laden with soft chains Makes fresh my flower-vase, plunges in the next mirror, On a secret bed lavishes her pure fingers; She places a woman in the midst of these walls Who, wandering through my dreams with propriety, Passes before my eyes without breaking their absence, Just as the rays of the sun are passed through the lens, And sparing the apparatus of pure reason.