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