Brussels

Flowerbeds of amaranths right up to
  The pleasant palace of Jupiter.
    I know it is Thou, who is this place,
        Minglest thine almost Saharan Blue!

Then, since rose and fir-tree of the sun
   And tropical creeper have their play enclosed here,
      The little widow's cage!...What
         Flocks of birds, o iaio, iaio!...

Calm houses, old passions!
    Summerhouse of the Lady who ran mad for love.
       After the buttocks of the rosebushes, the balcony
          Of Juliet, shadowy and very low.

La Juliette, that reminds me of l'Henriette,
   A charming railway station,
       At the heart of a mountain, as if the bottom of an orchard
          Where a thousand blue devils dance in the air!

Green bench where in stormy paradise,
  The white Irish girl sings to the guitar.

     Then, from the Guianian dining-room,
          Chatter of children and of cages.

The duke's window which makes me think
   Of the poison of snails and of boxwood
     Sleeping down here in the sun.
         And then,
It is too beautiful! too! Let us maintain our silence.

Boulevard without movement or business,
   Dumb, every drama and every comedy,
       Unending concentration of scenes,
          I know you and I admire you in silence.