Original Title: "Art poétique"
Text: Paul Verlaine
Music before anything else
And for that prefers the irregular verse
More vague and more soluble in air
Without anything in it which weights or poses
You must not either
Choose your words without some misunderstanding
Nothing is dearest than the grey song
Where the indecisive joins the precise
It's beautiful eyes behind veils
It's the bright day shivering at noon
It's, through an autumn sky cooled down,
The blue jumble of the clear stars!
Because we want the shade again
Not the color, just the shade!
Oh the shade only marries
The dream to the dream and the flute to the horn!
Run the farthest away from the murderous point
The cruel spirit, and the impure laugh
Which make the eyes of the Azure cry,
And all that garlic of low kitchen!
Take the eloquence and break its neck!
You will do well, in energetic spirit,
To give back the tempered rhyme
If we do not pay attention, up to where will it go?
Oh who will say the wrongs of the Rhyme?
Which death child or crazy negro
Has forged us that one penny jewel
Which sounds hollow and fake under the file?
Some music still and always!
Let your verse be the flown away thing
That we feel flees from a departed soul
Toward other skies and other loves
Let your verse be the good adventure
Scattered to the tense wind of the morningv Which goes smelling of mind and thyme...
And everything else is literature.