• Moonlight
  
  by Paul Verlaine
  
  Your soul is a chosen landscape
  Charmed by masquers and bergamasquers,
  Playing the lute and dancing, and almost
  Sad beneath their whimsical costumes,
  
  Even as they sing in the minor mode
  Of triumphant love, and a life of good fortune,
  They don't seem to believe in their happiness,
  And their song blends with the moonlight,
  
  With the still moonlight, sad and lovely,
  Which sets the birds in the trees to dreaming,
  And makes the fountains sob with ecstasy,
  The tall slim fountains among the marble statues.