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SHELLS: Poetry of Paul Verlaine


paul1.1Each encrusted shell, which is in that cave where we loved, has its own peculiarities. One, our soul has the purple that has sucked the blood, our hearts, and when I burn you in the fire blaze. Another, imitate you in your languor, and in your pallor of when, tired; are you mad at me because I mocking eyes. This makes the mirror, how you wrap yourself in the grace of your ear; another, however, the tender and short neck rose. But only one, among all, upsets me.

(Paul Verlaine)

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