"Drunken, the more drunken, you were saying, for
denying drunkenness. . . ."
One again a man arises in the wind. His word as brief
as the splintering of bone. His foot already angled on its
course. . . .
"Ah, yes, all things torn loose! Let it be told among
the living!
Above all in the lower districts -- this matter is of
importance.
And you, new men, what are you going to do with
the heavy braids unbraided over the brow of the
repudiated hour?
Those who dreamed dreams in their rooms went to
bed last night on the other side of the century, facing
the adverse moons.
Others have drunk the new wine in fountains painted
with red lead. And we were of those. Any may the sadness
that we were be dissolved in the new wine of men,
as in the festivals of the wind!
Ended the dream wherein the Dreamer marvels
throughout his watch.
Our salvation is in the haste and the canceling out.
Impatience is everywhere. And over the Dreamer's
shoulder the indictment of dream and inertia.
Let them bring us from the Marches men of great
power, reduced by inaction to the profession of Enchanter.
Unpredictable men. Men assailed by the god. Men
nourished on the new wine and as though transfixed by
lightning.
-- Saint-John Perse
