Je n'ai pas oubli', voisine de la ville

I've not forgotten, near to the town, our white house, small but alone: its Pomona of plaster, its Venus of old hiding nude limbs in the meagre grove, and the sun, superb, at evening, streaming, behind the glass, where its sheaves were bursting, a huge eye in a curious heaven, present to gaze at our meal, lengthy and silent, spreading its beautiful candle glimmer on the frugal cloth and the rough curtain.