by Paul Verlaine （Translated by Louis Simpson）

    High-heels were struggling with a full-length dress

    So that， between the wind and the terrain，

    At times a shining stocking would be seen，

    And gone too soon. We liked that foolishness.

    Also， at times a jealous insect's dart

    Bothered out beauties. Suddenly a white

    Nape flashed beneath the branches， and this sight

    Was a delicate feast for a young fool's heart.

    Evening fell， equivocal， dissembling，

    The women who hung dreaming on our arms

    Spoke in low voices， words that had such charms

    That ever since our stunned soul has been trembling.