Paul Verlaine (1844 - 96)

[soixantequatre]

The Faun
In this middle of the sporting green
Taunts an old terra-cotta faun;
Predicting, no doubt, a sour outcome

To those idylls, so serene,
Which lured us, melancholy pilgrims,
To this meeting, already fleeting,

To the skirl of a tambourines.