Ils brandissaient des parasols comme si on tournait des paroles de poèmes (Another Spring Reminiscence of the Fin du Siècle)

 

With their parasols, umbrellas, and faces,

speaking in tongues of fanned-out shades

and lights—they used to woo and charm

even music or rain as they slowly strolled

 

or stayed with those magic circles, dark

halos above their heads—moving through

the paths like dots of melodious notes

across music open sheets—so out or in.

 

Oh, it was the time when beauty and love

were as fresh and light as a waft of breeze,

and love was beauty’s both art and touch—

 

a silent tap on one’s wrist—another way

in which to speak and expand your eyes.

By having smiles paint it all as dreams.