The hair flying from a flame to the extreme
West desires to the whole éployer
arises (I would die a tiara)
Towards forehead crowned his former home
But without gold sigh that life naked
Ignition of fire inside still
Originally the only continuous
In the jewel of the truthful or laughing eye
a nude hero soft defames
That which does moving [rings / star] or finger lights
Nothing to simplify the glorious woman
made by his chief dazzling feat
to sow doubt ruby she flays
And a joyful and tutelary torch
Stéphane Mallarmé
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