Julie

Stéphane Mallarmé, *Petit Air*

I

Any solitude Without a swan or quai Mirrors its disuse In the gaze I abdicate

Far from that pride’s excess Too high to enfold In which many a sky paints itself With the twilight’s gold

But languorously flows beside Like white linen laid aside Such fleeting birds as dive Exultantly at my side

Into the wave made you Your exultation nude.