Du soleil ont éteint la gloire.


Sinister black butterflies

Have blacked out the radiant sun,

And the horizon seems a grimoire

Scrawled in ink when day is done.


From occult censers drift

Memory-troubling perfumes:

Sinister black butterflies

Have blacked out the radiant sun,


Monsters with viscous suckers

Searching for blood to drink,

And from the skies, a powder black,

Descends upon our despairs.

Sinister black butterflies.


Albert Giraud (Émile Albert Kayenberg),

'Pierrot Lunaire: Rondels Bergamasques', 1884.

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