Among lustful eyes and indifferent hands,
Amid the din of crowded cafés,
Among those who trade love for common desire—
How strange it is,
That I seek your likeness.
Though I know that to walk your way
Is the most wasted pursuit beneath Moon and Sun,
Still I will dream awhile: let old lanterns
Transform your whole face
Into the profile of mine.
Not with the weariness of hollow hopes,
Nor with tangled, resounding words,
I will ask you to dance the noble Viennese Waltz
In the quiet park
Where I’m poet and teacher.
Dance with me there. I will not reach your eyes
With my rapturous gaze of dark brown.
Nor will I break the frozen mysteries
You guard so closely,
Confided to no one.
I will rest my light breath upon your shoulder,
Yet not let my hair brush your cheek.
I will still the invisible tremor of night,
Offering no answer
To tenderness.
You are simply like Spring, and like a grief in Summer,
And as a rain that awakens in Autumn.
And your chest reveals the golden leaf
Of the pectoral,
Wisdom and reason unspoiled.
It is not easy to climb your summits,
Nor simple to descend into your valleys.
What a pity that my downfall is caused
By a careless Coquette
Among the fallen.
Відредаговано: 18.04.2026