A lady’s fan

Of frigid roses so to live

All together will interrupt

With just a whitesome calyx prompt

That breath of yours turned into rime

But that my beating should deliver

By way of profound shock the tuft

That frigidity doth melt

Into laughter blooming tipsy

To cast the sky in great detail

Like the fan of any lady

You are better than a bottle

No-one with a stopper sealing

Without its wrong or else its loss

The scent that’s all Mary’s wafting.

Stéphane Mallarmé