Song by Charles Pierre Baudelaire — Read

There is a wood where the fairies dance / All night long in a ring of mushrooms daintily, / By each tree bole sits a squirrel or a mole, / And the moon through the branches darts.

Light on the grass their slim limbs glance, / Their shadows in the moonlight swing in quiet unison, / And the moon discovers that they all have lovers, / But they never break their hearts.

They never grieve at all for sands that run, / They never know regret for a deed that's done, / And they never think of going to a shed with a gun / At the rising of the sun.