<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>