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Correspondence (Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du mal) Nature is a temple where living pillars Sometimes let out confused words; Man passes through forests of symbols Who observe him with familiar looks. Like long echoes that merge from afar In a dark and profound unity, Vast as the night and as the light, The perfumes, the colors and the sounds respond to each other. There are perfumes fresh like children's flesh, Sweet like oboes, green like meadows, And others, corrupted, rich and triumphant, Having the expansion of infinite things, Like amber, musk, benzoin and incense, Which sing of the transports of the spirit and the senses. Our company is temperamental as it is with your rare emoção...
