Sur L’Herbe

“THE abbé rambles.”—“You, marquis,
Have put your wig on all awry.”—
“This wine of Cypress kindles me
Less, my Camargo, than your eye!”

“My passion”—“Do, mi, sol, la, si.”—
“Abbé, your villainy lies bare.”—
“Mesdames, I climb up yonder tree
And fetch a star down, I declare.”

“Let each kiss his own lady, then
The others.”—“Would that I were, too,
A lap-dog!”—“Softly, gentlemen!”—
“Do, mi.”—“The moon!—Hey, how d’ye do?”

Paul Verlaine.