Claire is very serious about the poetry in wine. She can spend entire afternoons contemplating a wilting rosebud and marveling at all things ephemeral. There is very little that doesn’t move our Claire deeply. You can find her in the countryside, languishing in her own daydreams.
By Paul Verlaine
Your soul is a chosen landscape
Where charming masquerades and dancers are promenading,
Playing the lute and dancing, and almost
Sad beneath their fantastic disguises.
While singing in a minor key
Of victorious love, and the pleasant life
They seem not to believe in their own happiness
And their song blends with the moonlight,
With the sad and beautiful moonlight,
Which sets the birds in the trees dreaming,
And makes the fountains sob with ecstasy,
The tall slim water streams among the marble statues.