The milky sky, the hazy, slender trees, <br />Seem smiling on the light costumes we wear,- <br />Our gauzy floating veils that have an air <br />Of wings, our satins fluttering in the breeze. <br /> <br />And in the marble bowl the ripples gleam, <br />And through the lindens of the avenue <br />The sifted golden sun comes to us blue <br />And dying, like the sunshine of a dream. <br /> <br />Exquisite triflers and deceivers rare, <br />Tender of heart, but little tied by vows, <br />Deliciously we dally 'neath the boughs, <br />And playfully the lovers plague the fair. <br /> <br />Receiving, should they overstep a point, <br />A buffet from a hand absurdly small, <br />At which upon a gallant knee they fall <br />To kiss the little finger's littlest joint. <br /> <br />And as this is a shocking liberty, <br />A frigid glance rewards the daring swain,- <br />Not quite o'erbalancing with its disdain <br />The red mouth's reassuring clemency.<br /><br />Paul Verlaine<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-la-promenade/
