(From Pierre Lièvre)

Eternal autumn gilds the trees whereon
an ardent twilight lengthens endlessly.
In a warm strong wind the leaves whirl on and on
while unremitting rays fall from a sky
monotonous and wan.

Wines of the wild grape hang from colonnades
whose broken shafts lie round the fountains rim.
Blossoming roses climb the balustrades
and over garden paths the arbors trim
prolong their close arcades.

Peopled by flocks of pigeons turbulent
a ruinous palace in the sunset flares.
Dim statues seem to stir, in its niches pent,
while peacocks trail adown the leaning stairs
their plumes too opulent.

Amid so lovely shadows and serene places
dwell radiant beings in one calm attitude
immutable in wisdom and in graces...
but the sovereign boredom of beatitude
prevails on all their faces.