Vi

Come, let us rest a while beside the path, Upon the aged bench long stained with mould, And let me leave, between your two sure hands, My hand, abandoned to your gentle hold.

And as my hand that lies upon your knees Is glad to be abandoned there and knows Contentment, so my sweet and fervent heart Between your gentle hands has found repose.

And there is joy intense and love profound Of which we do partake together now, Nor trembles on our lips a single word Too strong, nor any kiss that burns your brow.

We would prolong the ardour of this silence, Of mute desires the immobility, Save that, when they quiver of a sudden, I press your pensive hands unknowingly--

Your hands wherein my happiness is sealed-- Your hands which never would attempt to reach To all these sacred and profounder things Whereby we live without the need of speech.