With flowers, and with women With absinthe, and with this fire We can divert ourselves a while Act out our part in some drama Absinthe, on a winter evening Lights up in green the sooty soul; And Flowers, on the beloved Grow fragrant before the clear fire Later, kisses lose their charm Having lasted several seasons; And after mutual betrayals We part one day without a tear We burn letters and bouquets And fire takes our bower; And if sad life is salvaged Still there is absinthe and its hiccups The portraits are eaten by flames Shrivelled fingers tremble We die from sleeping long With flowers, and with women