She dances, dying. As around the reed
Of a flute where the sad wind of Weber plays,
The robbon of her steps twists and knots,
The violins sing. Fresh from the blue of the water
Silvana comes, and carefully ruffles and preens:
The happiness of rebirth and love on her cheeks,
In her eyes, on her breasts, on her whole new being ...
And her satin feet like needles embroider
Patterns of pleasure. The springing girl
Wears out my poor eyes, straining to follow her.
With a trifle, as always, the beautiful mystery ends.
It's the leap of a frog in the Cytherean pond.
Sonnet by Degas
