Tonight the moon dreams in a deeper languidness, br And, like a beauty on her cushions, lies at rest; br While drifting off to sleep, a tentative caress br Seeks, with a gentle hand, the contour of her breast; br br As on a crest above her silken avalanche, br Dying, she yields herself to an unending swoon, br And sees a pallid vision everywhere she’d glance, br In the azure sky where blossoms have been strewn. br br When sometime, in her weariness, upon her sphere br She might permit herself to sheda furtive tear, br A poet of great piety, a foe of sleep, br br Catches in the hollow of his hand that tear, br An opal fragment, iridescent as a star; br Within his heart, far from the sun, it’s buried deep.