“These nymphs, I would perpetuate them.
                                                                                So bright
Their crimson flesh that hovers there, light
In the air drowsy with dense slumbers.
                                                                           Did I love a dream?
My doubt, mass of ancient night, ends extreme
In many a subtle branch, that remaining the true
Woods themselves, proves, alas, that I too
Offered myself, alone, as triumph, the false ideal of roses.

Let’s see…”

Stéphane Mallarmé, ‘L’Apres-midi d’un Faune’ 1876
Translated by A. S. Kline