Green
I give these flowers and fruits, these leafy sprays,
and my heart also, throbbing for your sake,
into your two white hands - oh, do not break
such poor gifts, nor your eyes deny them praise.
I come all covered yet with dew the breeze
of morning turns to ice upon my face.
Let my weariness, before your knees,
dream these dear moments which will give it peace.
Let my head, still ringing with your last
kisses, settle on your soft young breasts;
and when the splendid hurricane has passed,
perhaps I'll sleep a little while you rest.
Paul Verlaine
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