Paul Eluard

14 December 1895 – 18 November 1952 / Saint Denis / Paris

The Word

I have an easy beauty one that is happy.
I glide on the surface of winds.
I glide on the surface of seas
I have grown sentimental
I no longer know the guide
I no longer move silk over ice
I am diseased flowers and stones
I love the most chinese of nudes
I love the most naked lapses of wings
I am old but here I am beautiful
And the shadow that flows from the deep windows
Each evening spares the dark heart of my stare.
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