And Last

For my heart, never tired

Of being or anyway appearing,

Whatever is the case, tries to be

Or to appear merry and wild.

But, better than chasing after fortune

It tightens, this heart, hard as the bow

Of the plaster Love in the park you know,

To release itself in one and the other

And other things targets we

Perceive in the bellies of the clouds

Dark and roseate and blousy

As such desires in a heap.

Paul Verlaine