Published in 1866, it is Paul Verlaine's first poetry collection.
I often have this strange and penetrating dream. Of an unknown woman, and whom I love, and who loves me And who is, each time, neither completely the same Nor completely different, and loves me and understands me. Because she understands me, and my heart, transparent For her alone, alas! ceases to be a problem For her alone, and the dampness of my pale forehead, She alone knows how to refresh them, by crying. Is she brunette, blonde or redhead? - I do not know. Her name ? I remember that it is soft and resonant Like those of loved ones whom Life has exiled. Her gaze is like the gaze of statues, And, for her voice, distant, calm, and grave, she has The inflection of dear voices that have fallen silent.