Paul Eluard

There were only a few of them In all the
Each one thought he was
They sang, they were
To

La terre est bleue comme une orange Jamais une erreur les mots ne mentent pas Ils ne vous donnent plus à chanter Au tour des baisers de s'entendre Les fous et les amours Elle sa bouche d'alliance Tous les secrets tous les sourires Et quels…

A face at the end of the dayA cradle in day’s dead leavesA bouquet of naked
Every ray of sun
Every fount of founts in the depths of the
Every mirror of mirrors brokenA face in the scales of silenceA pebble among other

In one corner agile
Turns round the virginity of a little
In one corner sky releasedleaves balls of white on the spines of storm.
In one corner bright with all the

I have an easy beauty one that is happy.
I glide on the surface of winds.
I glide on the surface of seasI have grown sentimentalI no longer know the guideI no longer move silk over iceI am diseased flowers and stonesI love the most…

For the splendour of the day of happinesses in the
To live the taste of colours
To enjoy loves so as to
To open eyes at the final

Even when we sleep we watch over each
And this love heavier than a lake’s ripe
Without laughter or tears lasts
One day after another one night after us.

Run and run towards
And find and gather
Deliverance and
Run so quickly the thread

Do we reach the sea with clocks In our pockets, with the noise of the sea In the sea, or are we the carriers Of a purer and more silent water?
The water rubbing against our hands sharpens knives.
The warriors have found their weapons in…

The sentiments
The lightness of
The tresses of caresses.
Without worry or

I cannot be
Better than you know me Your eyes in which we
We
Have made for my man's gleamA better fate than for the common nights Your eyes in which I

I only wish to love youA storm fills the valleyA fish the river I have made you the size of my
The whole world to hide
Days and nights to understand To see no more in your
Than what I think of

What’s become of you why this white hair and
Why this forehead these eyes rent apart
The great misunderstanding of the marriage of
Solitude chases me with its rancour.

Despair has no wings,
Nor has love,
No countenance:
They do not speak.

I.
Soon Of all the springtimes of the world This one is the ugliest Of all of my ways of being To be trusting is the best Grass pushes up snow Like the stone of a tomb But I sleep within the storm And awaken eyes bright Slowness, brief time…

Life is truly
Come to me, if I go to you it’s a game,
The angels of bouquets grant the flowers a change of hue.

It’s the sweet law of
They make wine from
They make fire from
They make men from