With flowers, and with women
With absinthe, and with this fire
We can divert ourselves a while
Act out our part in some drama

Absinthe, on a winter evening
Lights up in green the sooty soul;
And Flowers, on the beloved
Grow fragrant before the clear fire

Later, kisses lose their charm
Having lasted several seasons;
And after mutual betrayals
We part one day without a tear

We burn letters and bouquets
And fire takes our bower;
And if sad life is salvaged
Still there is absinthe and its hiccups

The portraits are eaten by flames
Shrivelled fingers tremble
We die from sleeping long
With flowers, and with women