Par le portico de mon maison lgante tu grappes avec vos fureurs sauvages, drangeant des guirlandes de fruit et des luths et des paons fabuleux, rending le filet de tout le dcorum qui tient le tourbillon en arrire. Maintenant, l'ordre riche des murs est tomb ; les freux coassent au-dessus de la ruine effroyable; dans la lumire morne de votre oeil orageux, la magie prend le vol comme une sorcire intimide, stoppant le chteau quand les vrais jours se cassent.
Les piliers rompus encadrent des perspectives de roche; Tandis que tu te tiens hroque dans le manteau et la cravate, je m'assieds compos dans la tunique Grecque et le psyche-noeud, enracins votre regard noir, le jeu tourn tragique: Queest-ce qu'une telle rouille travaille sur notre domaine en faillite, quelle crmonie des mots peut raccorder le ravage ?
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