Translated* into English, Lune de Miel reads:
They saw the Netherlands, they are returning to High Land;
But on a summer night, here they are at Ravenna,
Comfortable between two bedsheets, in the company of two hundred bugs;
The summer sweat, and a strong canine odour.
They lay on their back with legs asunder,
Four soft legs all swollen by the bites.
They remove the bedsheet so as to scratch better.
Less than a league from here is Saint Apollinaire
En Classe, basilica known to lovers
Of capitals of acanthus which turn the wind.
They are going to take the eight o'clock train
To prolong their misery from Padua to Milan
Where they find the Last Supper and a cheap restaurant.
Thinking of tips and doing calculations,
They will have seen Switzerland and passed through France.
And Saint Apollinaire, stiff and ascetic,
An old abandoned factory of God, still preserves
In its crumbling stones the precise form of Byzantium.
*Translation by Professor S. Jathaul, former Chairman, Department of French,
Panjab University, Chandigarh (India)