The Girdle

When the sky the hue of cheeks

Permits the eyes at last their cherishing

And on the gilded verge of perishing

In roses time has its frolics,

Before the dumbstruck with such pleasure

Enchained by brushwork unsurpassed,

Dances a Shade with girdle unfast

Which the evening’s close to seizure.

Behold you now that vagabond girdle

In the aerial breath make

Supreme of all the bond to shake

Of my silence with this world...

Absent, present... I’m quite alone,

O suave shroud, and somber grown.

Paul Valéry