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All at once, as if in play,
Mademoiselle, she who moots
a wish to hear how it sounds today
the wood of my several flutes

It seems to me that this foray
tried out here in a country place
was better when I put them away
to look more closely at your face

Yet this vain whistling I suppress
in so far as I can create
given my fingers pure distress
lacking the means to imitate

Your very natural and clear
childlike laughter that charms the ear

by Stéphane Mallarmé

Other poems of MALLARMÉ (33)

Comments (1)

Nice, but not one of his best poems.