Little Poems in Prose

XXX BEAUTIFUL DOROTHY THE sun overwhelms the town with its di- rect and terrible light; the sand dazzles and the sea glitters; the tired world has given up its work and is taking its siesta; a siesta which is a kind of sweet-savoured death, where the sleeper, half awake, tastes the pleasures of his annihilation. Dorothy, however, as strong and as bright as the sun, walks in the deserted street; at this hour she is the sole living being under the mighty vault of blue; she makes a startling black blot upon the light. She moves forward, softly swaying her deli- cate torso on her broad hips; her robe of cling- ing silk, bright rose in colour, makes a lively contrast with the darkness of her skin, and moulds exactly her tall figure, her hollowed back and pointed breasts. Her red umbrella, filtering the light, throws on her dark face the blood-red tint of its reflections. The weight of her forest of hair, almost blue in shade, draws back her delicate head and