Note: The Jade Flute, by Franz Toussaint

Love is buried under scruples, like the flute lost under the grass, the shadow of a flower dances on sleeping cheeks, a dream or a butterfly settles on my shoulder; There is no image here that is not delicious by nature or by habit - and such that in writing it one must have the feeling of cheating.

Read the original text published in the NRf from January 1921