Dansemuse

An awful translation via Babelfish, from Le Genie D'oc Et L'homme Mediterraneen, which is as best I can tell an anthology of French literature. (according to Babelfish it means "Genie of oc and the Mediteranean Man").

DANSEMUSE

I

It is lacking some a word
That it has the heart like front,
It runs or the days fly,
It was born with the wind.

II

Its lips think for it;
All birds of the setting one
Their wings burn together
With what shone in its songs.

III

The hours follow its shade;
It loses them in the flowers,
Not guessing that their number has
That it was all in their heart.

IV

It is gray and known as insane
And dances has to close the eyes
A heart beats in its words,
No one does not know or are its skies.

V

Like a star in its branches
Its frankness grasped evenings
It is the white pink.
It should be liked to see it.

VI

A tear raméne
With daylight
Or the man informs of his sorrows
The child who it is for always.

VII

And, in the wind which walks on,
It is the sleepless night of the tears
Whose orphan light
Knows that it is dawning in the heart.

Joe Bousquet