by Paul Verlaine （Translated by Louis Simpson）

    High-heels were struggling with a full-length dress

    So that， between the wind and the terrain¹，

    At times a shining stocking would be seen，

    And gone too soon. We liked that foolishness.

    Also， at times a jealous insect's dart²

    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

    Spoke³ in low voices， words that had such charms

    That ever since our stunned⁴ soul has been trembling.

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