While the public funds flow in a feast of brotherhood, a bell of pink fire tolls in the clouds.

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The highland pond smokes continually.  What witch will stand against the pale sunset?  What purple foliage will fall!

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I've stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance.

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An overcast morning, in July.  A taste of ash flies in the sky, - the smell of wood sweating from the hearth; - soaked flowers, - havoc of avenues, - the mist from canals through the fields, - why not ready toys and incense? 

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My mate, beggar-girl, terror! how little you care, these unhappy women and these ploys, and my problems.  Attach yourself to us with your impossible voice, your voice! unique hope of this vile despair.

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When we are very strong, - who withdraws? very cheerful, - who stoops to ridicule?  When we are very spiteful, what will they do with us?  Grace yourself, dance, laugh.  I could never send Love out the window.

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When the world has reduced to a lone dark wood for our four astonished eyes, - to a beach for two faithful children, - to a musical house for our clear sympathy, - I'll find you.
      Let there be here a lonely old man, calm and beautiful, surrounded by "astonishing luxury", - and I am at my knees.
      If I have realised all your memories, - If I am she who can tie you up, - I will strangle you.