![]() ![]() Your mad heart goes Crusoeing the romances, That quivers there, like some tiny creature. The sap’s champagne and blurs every feature. June night! And Seventeen! – You get tipsy. Soft tremblings, tiny and perfectly white. Of sombre azure framed by a twig of night, ![]() The wind is full of sounds – the town’s nearby –īlows the smell of beer, and the scent of vines. The air’s so sweet sometimes you close your eyes: The lime-trees smell so fine on fine June evenings! – You walk the lime-trees’ green on the Parade. The noisy cafés with their dazzling gleam! – One fine evening, tired of beers and lemonade, You’re not serious, when you’re seventeen. Stillman (American, 1828 - 1901), Getty Open Content Program Through Nature – as happy, as if I had a girl. I shall say – not a thing: I shall think – not a thing:īut an infinite love will swell in my soul, I’ll let the evening breeze drench my head anew. Pricked by the ears of maize, trampling the dew:Ī dreamer, I will gaze, as underfoot the coolness plays. Through the blue summer days, I shall travel all the ways, ‘The Temple of Love, Petit Trianon (1902)’Įugène Atget (French, 1857 - 1927), Getty Open Content Program This work may be freely reproduced, stored and transmitted, electronically or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose. Kline © Copyright 2003, 2008 All Rights Reserved ![]()
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