Stéphane Mallarmé Biography

The flesh is sad, Alas! and I have read all the books.
Let’s go! Far off. Let’s go! I sense
that the birds, intoxicated, fly
deep into unknown spume and sky!
...

These nymphs, I would perpetuate them.
So bright
Their crimson flesh that hovers there, light
...

All at once, as if in play,
Mademoiselle, she who moots
a wish to hear how it sounds today
the wood of my several flutes
...

Her pure nails sprung up exalting their onyx,
Anxiety, this midnight, bearing light, sustains,
In twilight many dreams burnt up by the Phoenix
...

Towards your brow my soul oh gentle sister,
where there dreams
An autumn strewn with ruddy streaks
And towards the wandering sky of your
...