Guillaume Apollinaire. (№ 372836)

Now in Paris you walking in the crowd one himself-friend
Herds of buses grunt and race around
Longing you a ring compresses the ice
As if you never will you love
You used in the last century in the monastery to hide
Now we are embarrassed and ashamed to pray
Laugh at yourself and laugh your Hellfire
And your life is in the fire, in gilt frame
A picture hanging in a dark Museum
And you stand and stare at her