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p. 119


The midnight masses of the trees move no more than do the mountains. The stars are crowded in a spreading sky. A breeze warm as a human breath caresses my cheeks and eyes.

Oh! Night who gave birth to the Gods! how sweet thou art upon my lips! how warm thou art in my hair! how thou enterest into me this evening, and I feel that I am big with all thy spring!

The flowers which are going to bloom will take their birth from me. The wind which breathes so softly is my breath. The wafted perfume is my own desire. All the living stars are in my eyes.

Thy voice, is it the murmur of the sea, or is it the silence of the fields? Thy voice, I do not understand it, but it dizzies me, and my tears bathe both my hands.

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