Star sorrow

A fair Minerva is my head’s offspring

I’m crowned with a star of blood for always

Reason’s at bottom and heaven the pinnacle

Of the chief whereof Goddess you’re armed many days

That’s why of my ills it wasn’t the worst of all

This hole nearly mortal and star-splintered

But the secret misfortune that nurtures my vertigo

Is much greater than any soul’s ever hid

And I bear with me this suffering ardent

As the glow-worm has its body enflamed

As France beats in the soldier’s heart

And as in the lily’s heart the pollen perfumed

Guillaume Apollinaire