<span>The beauty
I am beautiful, mortal! Like a dream of stone,
And my breast, where each one has bruised by turns,
Is made to inspire the poet a love
Eternal and mute as well as matter.
I throne in the azure like a misunderstood sphinx;
I unite a heart of snow to the whiteness of the swans;
I hate the movement that moves the lines,
And I never cry and never laugh.
The poets, before my great attitudes,
That I seem to borrow from the most proud monuments,
Consume their days in austere studies;
For I have, to fascinate these docile lovers,
Pure mirrors that make all things more beautiful:
<span>My eyes, my wide eyes with eternal light!</span></span>
La prof d'anglais est très gentille.
Answer:
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRA, SKEET SKEET SKEET
Explanation:
Bonsoir,
O "The Island of Flowers"