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The flower of the Alps told the seashell:
"You're shining"
"You're shining"
The seashell told the sea:
"You echo"
The sea told the boat:
"You're shuddering"
The boat told the fire:
"You're glowing brightly"
The fire told me:
"I glow less brightly than her eyes"
The boat told me:
"I shudder less than your heart does
when she appears"
The sea told me:
"I echo less than her name does in your love-making"
The seashell told me:
"I shine less brightly than the phosphorus
of desire in your hollow dream"
The flower of the Alps told me:
"She's beautiful"
I said:
"She's beautiful, so beautiful, she moves me."
(1900-1945)
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| The dedicatee of this poem knows who she is! |
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