from Theophile Gautier.
No Madame, it is not you I love.
Nor you Juliet; no more
Ophelia: nay, Beatrice mine thereof.
Even you fair Laura, blonde eyes I most adore.
All who I love is now in China
Living in the ancient house of her parents,
In a porcelain tower none seem so finer,
On rivers of honey among the Cormorants.
She rolls her eyes towards her temple.
Her little foot lifts upon my hand.
Complexions bright as copper lamps resemble
her long pretty nails, reddened like Carmines glad.
translated by KJ.McGuigan, from Cupio.
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