To Stéphane Mallarmé

IDEAL monument of cordial dreams,
The Poem, to its mystery's supreme singer,
Is a miraculous pool where spirits linger
To quench their fiery thirst with diamond gleams.

Sounds, colours, perfumes, forms fuse in a mesh,
And soar above the hour's bitter base,
Projecting through the music thrilling space
Processional altars for the song grown flesh.

God, who the man created, he conceives;
And like a flower his architecture heaves
O'er strophic walls illumed with stained-glass words;

And, with his visions brightening the block,
With more assiduous sculpturing he girds
The style with marble Time shall never shock.