Nov 132013
 
Virgin dawn's violet, ineffectual light....
What use the shuddering wings?  Delicate inebriate...
Shivering no fissures in the lake's hard haunt of ice--
Glacial transparencies flickering with effectless flights.

Once swift and serene, his memories flitter: ill-lit,
Magnificent, and without hope.  He strains....
Never enchanted by chansons of Riviera suns,
Never flying from winter's sterile dazzle.

The long S-neck convulses--whitest, wintriest agony;
Infinite space afflicts;  the snowy swan denies, denies....
A horrible mire frosts the impeccable quills.

Phantom of brilliance by brilliance confined
To immobility--in his insolent trance icily fixed--
Sleet-sheeted, inutile exile of a Swan! 

Mallarme

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