Quand mes yeux sont des mauvaises herbes, et mes lvres sont des ptales, tournant en bas du vent qui a commencer o les htres chiffonns commencent dans une frange des roseaux sals; Quand mes bras sont des an-buissons, et le lilas rangy pousse vers le haut, vers le haut par mon coeur;
L't, font votre plus mauvais ! Allumer votre lune de tresse, et inviter vos toiles d'excution pour tomber dessus la tte la premire par votre ciel de papier; Nevermore I sera maudit par un slattern rinc et amoureux, avec le modle de ses lacets poussireux tranant, comme elle est en dsordre prs.
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