exiled spirits, red as the spotless toe of a seraph spread with scarlet by the shame of rumpled dawns - Stéphane Mallarmé

The onyx of her pure nails offered high, Lampadephore at midnight, Anguish bears Many a twilight dream the Phoenix burned To ashes gathered by no amphora.

A soul trembling to sit by a hearth so bright,
To exist again, it’s enough if I borrow from
Your lips the breath of my name you murmur all night.

Кад се предмету каже име, уништава се три четвртине онога уживања у песми које се састоји у постепеном погађању: наговестити и евоцирати – то је оно што машту усхићује.

To name an object is to suppress three-fourths of the enjoyment of the poem which is made up of gradual discovery: to suggest it, that is the dream.