Original by Gérard de Nerval Translated,  from the French, by Nolan Dannels   I am the dark—the Widower—the inconsolable, the prince of Aquitaine in the abolished tower: my only star is dead, and my starry lyre bears the black sun …

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The flowers Golden avalanches of ancient azure skies On the first day, and of the eternal snow of stars You once detached the calyxes of seas and skies, Of the still young earth, an earth virgin to wars. Wild gladiolus …

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A toast Nothing, this foam, a virgin verse, Shows nothing but the cup; Far away the many sirens Drown the wrong way round, submersed. We navigate through, my diverse Friends, I already on the stern You on the grand prow …

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The Siren is a beast, usually blonde That chooses a corner for herself in a much-frequented sea And spreads herself upon a great rock On the lookout for hardy sailors With intentions that are beyond nautical. The siren yells like …

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