Anthology of Black Humor. André Breton
dream up a world to my taste,
The best lots are always for me,
And so I shall never decide
A king or a ruler to be.
In my retreat so solitary
The future is not my concern;
I revel in my fantasy
And dwell on the past’s sweet return;
Such dreams fresh and green from my youth,
Which sorrow could not mortify,
Bring comfort to soothe my old age:
One is old when one is soon to die.
Sometimes in a palace superb
I gather up beauties galore;
More frequently stretched on the grass
I have only Lise to adore;
The gauze that her breast gently lifts
Despite me calls my mind to roam.
What pity that I am then left
To finish these visions alone.
Sometimes in a humble abode,
Glad father and sensible spouse,
My good mother dotes at my side
And my children rest on my knees;
In the shadow of plants green and lush
I read and I write turn by turn;
But alas! comes a storm loud and harsh—
Oh why must this dream end so soon?
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