The new republic is strong.
Men write it on blank walls.
Schoolboys stare at it long
and sing an Anacreontic song.

The sun shoots up and falls
to pieces across the eaves.
Everyone, wonder of wonders,
is somehow involved in the deed.

When night falls on the square,
round a brasero, silly and warm,
a fashion seamstress dances
with a democratic gendarme.

Translation by James S. Holmes