« The curve of your eyes circles my heart,
A circle of dance and sweetness,
A halo of time, a safe and nocturnal cradle,
And if I no longer know all that I have lived
It is because your eyes have not always seen me.

Leaves of day and foam of dew,
Reeds of the wind, perfumed smiles,
Wings covering the world with light,
Boats laden with sky and sea,
Hunters of noises and sources of colors,

Perfumes hatched from a brood of dawns
Which always lies on the straw of the stars,
As the day depends on innocence
The whole world depends on your pure eyes
And all my blood flows in their gazes. » (Paul Eluard, Capitale de la douleur, 1926)