XIII
Now, although it was long before we slept-- For she allowed me to remain with her, And I had fallen asleep, holding her in my arms Very gently and tenderly, as a lover does, While my heart poured out tenderness for her Like a fountain, like the white Luxembourg fountain, And I had fallen asleep though I tried to keep awake To feel my wood-nymph caught so tenderly in my arms And to listen to her soft low breathing, And to taste my happiness, because at last After all the pain and the long empty days She was there by my side, sleeping, my wild love-- And although I was supposed to be so tired, Yet I was the first to wake. I bent over and looked at her as she still slept, Watching her, the lips a little parted, The deep eyes hidden with the lashes, A wisp of hair on her cheek; And I thought my breath would fail, My heart stop beating, So much did I love her...
She turned her head with slowly-opening eyes and smiled at me, And in a moment she was in my arms, My mouth on her warm, sleep-warm lips.
It was very late when my love rang, But Antoinette came in most composedly Bringing our coffee and her letters. I huddled in the clothes For I was a little abashed That even a middle-aged French woman-servant Should see me lying beside my love. But she said: "Monsieur est tres pudique, vous voyez." And Antoinette said stolidly: "Oui M'dame." And then most unexpectedly, Leaving us both greatly surprised, Antoinette smiled most approvingly at us, And said: "Soyez benis, mes enfants, Soyez heureux, vous etes encore jeunes," And then rushed from the room.
Faint, faint are the voices that come to me, Fainter and fainter the colours, fainter my dream; It is passing like the setting rays from still water, Drifting away like the willow leaves on a cold morning When they patter so dismally on the frosty ground, Fading as the colours fade from the roses at twilight, Growing dim like the eyes of a wounded soldier, Leaving me, inexorably leaving me...
Yet something I remember... I remember how my love rose from our bed And stood naked and unconcerned before me-- For was I not her lover and is she not beautiful?-- While I watched her with the sunlight on her breasts, As she stood so straight and white by the open window Saying: "To-day we will not try to work, But both take a holiday. Let us have a picnic somewhere and bathe And take a long drive afterwards..." My dream is almost broken...
But I remember, dimly I remember Many more days of sunlight and rain, Days of hard work and merry playing, Nights when she read to me in her clear voice Either from the book she was writing Or from Elizabethan poets-- Can I ever forget her clear voice reading "Follow thy saint, follow with accents sweet"?-- And friends came to see us, but did not part us Although the world hates lovers. For a moment the colours of the dream flash brighter... I remember how I loved her and she loved me, I remember how so many nights she lay in my arms In that mysterious communion of love...