Poem for the day

The Faun

In this middle of the sporting green
Taunts an old terra-cotta faun;
Predicting, no doubt, a sour outcome

To those idylls, so serene,
Which lured us, melancholy pilgrims,
To this meeting, already fleeting,

To the skirl of a tambourines.

Paul Verlaine (1844 - 96)
translated by John Montague

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