A first attenmpt a free form poetry
A second attempt
A reading of Prête aux baisers résurrecteurs
Have you ever loved a rose,
and watched her slowly bloom;
and as her petals would unfold,
you grew drunk on her perfume.
Have you ever seen her dance,
her leaves all wet with dew;
and quivered with a new romance—
the wind, he loved her too.
Have you ever longed for her,
on nights that go on and on;
for now, her face is all a blur,
like a memory kept too long.
Have you ever loved a rose,
and bled against her thorns;
and swear each night to let her go
then love her more by dawn.
Paul Verlaine
Mon rêve familier
Mignonne by Stéphane Mallarmé
