Rememoration of Belgian Friends

At hours and without that such breath it moves
All the vetusty nearly color of incense
As furtive of it and visible I sense
Undressing fold by fold the stone vidual


Floats or seems by itself to bear no proof
If not to shed the time for balm ancient
We immemorial someones so content
Upon the suddenness of our friendship new


O very dear ones met in never banal
Bruges multiplying dawn in the dead canal
With the scattered stroll of many a swan


When solemnly that city gave me a sign
Which among its sons another flight calls on
To prompt irradiate as wing the mind


Stéphane Mallarmé