• A TOAST

Nothing, this foam, virgin verse
Depicting the chalice alone:
Far off a band of Sirens drown
Many of them head first.

We sail, O my various
Friends, I already at the stern,
You at the lavish prow that churns
The lightning´s and the winters´ flood:

A sweet intoxication urges me
Despite pitching, tossing, fearlessly
To offer this toast while standing

Solitude, reef, and starry veil
To whatever´s worthy of knowing
The white anxiety of our sail.
---- Stephane Mallarmé

Imagem: A Arte e a Literatura, Bouguereau