Anthology of Black Humor. André Breton

dream up a world to my taste,

      The best lots are always for me,

      And so I shall never decide

      A king or a ruler to be.

      In my retreat so solitary

      The future is not my concern;

      I revel in my fantasy

      And dwell on the past’s sweet return;

      Such dreams fresh and green from my youth,

      Which sorrow could not mortify,

      Bring comfort to soothe my old age:

      One is old when one is soon to die.

      Sometimes in a palace superb

      I gather up beauties galore;

      More frequently stretched on the grass

      I have only Lise to adore;

      The gauze that her breast gently lifts

      Despite me calls my mind to roam.

      What pity that I am then left

      To finish these visions alone.

      Sometimes in a humble abode,

      Glad father and sensible spouse,

      My good mother dotes at my side

      And my children rest on my knees;

      In the shadow of plants green and lush

      I read and I write turn by turn;

      But alas! comes a storm loud and harsh—

      Oh why must this dream end so soon?

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