Mad, La Rene Des Mensonges

Mad, the queen of lies,
Presides over dreams;
Lighter than the deceiving wind;
Through space, through the night,
She passes, she flees!
Her chariot, swiftly driven
Is pulled through the clear ether,
Made from an empty hazelnut
By the earthworm charioteer!
The harness, delicate lace,
Was cut from the wing
Of some green grasshopper
By her coachman, the midge!
A cricket bone serves as the handle
For her whip, with a white lash
Taken from the ray that flows
From Phoebe gathering her court!
Every night in this carriage
Mad visits, on her way,
The husband dreaming of widowhood
And the lover dreaming of love!
At her approach, the flirt
Dreams of adornment and dress,
The courtier bows,
The poet rhymes his verses!
To the miser, in his dark abode,
She opens her countless treasures,
And freedom laughs in the shadow
At the prisoner burdened with chains.
The soldier dreams of ambushes,
Of battles and swordplay,
She pours him the drinks
With which his laurels are watered.
And you, whom a sigh startles
When you rest on your bed,
O virgin! She brushes your lips
And makes you dream of kisses!