whiterabbit819

I'm sorry if the French is bad....

Apollon, pue pieurait ie trepas d'Hyacinthe,
Ne voulait pas ceder la victoire a la mort.
II fallait que son ame, adepte de l'essor,
Trouvat pour la beaute une alchemie plus sainte.
Donc de sa main celeste il epuise, il ereinte
Laes dons les plus subtile de la divine Flore.
Leurs corps brises souspirent une exhalaison d'or
Dont il nous receillait la goutte de l'Absinthe!

Aux caverns blotties, aux palais petillants,
Par un, par deux, buvez ce breuvage d'aimant!
Car c'est un sortilege, un propos de dictame,
Ce vin d'opale pale avortit la misere,
Ourre de la beaute l'intime sanctuaire
-- Ensorcelle mon coeur, extasie mort ame!

Apollon Who was weeping for the death of Haycinthe,
Didn't want to give up victory for the death.
His soul, Adept of the soaring,
Had to find for the beauty a holier alchemy.
Thus with his celestial hand he drains, he exhausts
The most subtle gifts of the divine Flora
Their broken bodies sigh a golden exhalation
Oh which he was catching for us the drop of Absinthe

To the curled up caves, to the sparkling palaces,
By one, By two, drink this lovers beverage!
For this is a spell, a balms matter
This pale opal wine aborts misery,
Hems with the beauty the intimate sancturay
--Bewitches my heart, ecstasies my soul!