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Paris during the war

The beasts who descend on the suburbs on fire,
The birds who shake their murderous feathers,
The terrible yellow skies, the stark naked clouds
Celebrated, all year round, this statue.

She is beautiful, living statue of love,
O snow of noon, sun on all the bellies,
O flames of slumber on the face of an angel
And on every night and on all the faces.

Silence. The brilliant silence of her dreams
Caresses the horizon. Her dreams are ours
And the hands of desire which she places on her sword
Intoxicate, with hurricanes, the delivered world.

Paul Eluard