Viii

As in the guileless, golden age, my heart I gave thee, even like an ample flower That opens in the dew's bright morning hour; My lips have rested where the frail leaves part.

I plucked the flower--it came From meadows whereon grow the flowers of flame: Speak to it not--'tis best that we control Words, since they needs are trivial 'twixt us two; All words are hazardous, for it is through The eyes that soul doth hearken unto soul.

That flower that is my heart, and where secure My heart's avowal hides. Simply confides Unto thy lips that she is clear and pure. Loyal and good--and that one's trust toward A virgin love is like a child's in God.

Let wit and wisdom flower upon the height, Along capricious paths of vanity; And give we welcome to sincerity, That holds between her fingers crystal-bright Our two clear hearts: for what so beautiful As a confession made from soul to soul. When eve returns And the white flame of countless diamonds burns. Like myriads of silent eyes intent, Th' unfathomed silence of the firmament.

XVII.

That we may love each other through our eyes Let us our glances lave, and make them clear, Of all the thousand glances that they here Have met, in this base world of servile lies.

The dawn is dressed in blossom and in dew, And chequered too With very tender light--it looks as though Frail plumes of sun and silver, through the mist, Glided across the garden to and fro, And with a soft caress the mosses kissed.

Our wondrous ponds of blue Tremble and wake with golden shimmerings; Swift emerald flights beneath the trees dart through. And now the light from hedge and path anew Sweeps the damp dust, where yet the twilight clings.

XXI.

In hours like these, when through our dream of bliss So far from all things not ourselves we move, What lustral blood, what baptism is this That bathes our hearts, straining toward perfect love?

Our hands are clasped, and yet there is no prayer, Our arms outstretched, and yet no cry is there; Adoring something, what, we cannot say. More pure than we are and more far away, With spirit fervent and most guileless grown, How we are mingled and dissolved in one; Ah, how we live each other, in the unknown!

Oh, how absorbed and wholly lost before The presence of those hours supreme one lies! And how the soul would fain find other skies To seek therein new gods it might adore; Oh, marvellous and agonizing joy, Audacious hope whereon the spirit hangs, Of being one day Once more the prey, Beyond even death, of these deep, silent pangs.

From "LES APPARUS DANS MES CHEMINS"