SYLLOGISMS

-translation of Correspondances, 

Nature is a forest where the living limbs

Of trees drop clues like dying leaves

On anyone beneath them who believes

In such ghostly passing whims,

 

Distant echoes of a dark and deep ravine

Where night and day are intertwined

And in whose mixing light we find

What the deeper colors mean.

 

These combining scents would seem

To fuse us in a purer world,

Where amber dusk and incense dream

 

Of all the endless riches swirled

And held by music's gleam,

But which in fact are just its seam.