Art Poetique

This is another mock translation from the French. I can't read French.

Of the music that I want to choose
and pour, say I prefer a pair.
One's vague and one's singing in the air.
Songs rich and liquid, pieces of repose.

I’ll also find quaint pointed nails,
choirs tense, more songs drenching my prize.
Rain and the sharing of chances raised.
Our indecision and precise joining.

See the boys with daring voices,
see the grand year trembling in the middle,
see, have a cycle of automatic attention.
The blue fountains, these clear lillies

are now vibrant in the nuance encore.
Past the corridor, rain is a nuance. 
Oh, the nuance, should I find it,
let it rage and rage and let all the flutes join in. 

First, you put love in the points of your song.
The spirit curls and the river runs pure.
Then find all the lost flowers, your dear Azure,
and tell us all about your song.