The stars, the sky, the elements employed
all their light to limit the oak trees,
the yellow flowers, the banks of canals
and the broad bayous stretching to the gulf.
The work, so noble, graceful and so rare
as to slip through the fingers of a poet
searching images, to remain mysterious
despite volumes of trusted propositions.
The air, the church of the bending rays,
the declining Sun, and the blinking stars
render a figure that is incomprehensible.
There no desire can be felt, no appetite
can be satisfied by the whirling light
descending spheres so musically arranged.
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