Fata morgana, the childern of light, with her brow on her breast like a large blue Muse
Muse, her eyelashes at herdrer's feet.
On her enormous, turquoise, lure, never flaring hair, a phantom of satin Dressed in pale blue gauze, In a circle of white satin
Then a door shadows her adored physical beauty, nobler than her serenade
Holds her little fanshaped fingers.
It starts with a horizontale comets.
