Evening hours at the desk,
The page irremediably white,The mimosa's scent is of Nice, warmth,
Over the moon some vast bird flies.
And, twining my braids for night,
As if I must wear them tomorrow,
Ilook from the window at sand-dunes, sea,
Free of sorrow.
How much power a man has
Who doesn't ask for affection!
I can't even lift my weary eyelids
When he chooses to speak my name.
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