Towards your brow my soul oh gentle sister, <br />where there dreams <br />An autumn strewn with ruddy streaks <br />And towards the wandering sky of your <br />angelic eye <br />Climbs upward, as in a melancholy garden, <br />Faithful, a white spray of water sighing <br />towards the sky! <br />Towards a sky softened by pure and <br />pale October <br />That reflects its infinite languor in great <br />formal pools <br />And deigns, on the stagnant water where the <br />tawny agony <br />Of the leaves wanders with the wind and hollows <br />out a frigid furrow, <br />To be drawn away by the tall beam of the <br />yellow sun.<br /><br />Stéphane Mallarmé<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sigh-47/
