Sometimes when I think of love I think of Mimi singing in Boheme, Just as the tune across the footlights came When we were young, my dear, at Covent Garden! Poor music, but before the senses harden Puccini’s made for boys and girls to wear Spite of sham passion and a poitrinaire. For if they looked and didn’t find the key At least they found the hearts of you and me. That sort of love age thinks of with a smile How innocent it was of truth and guile, How young perhaps and yet how half-divine And how imperishably yours and mine. You will not wonder nor will you reprove My thoughts of Mimi when I think of love. II. Sometimes when I think of love I see a boat upon a river, And the rushes suddenly shiver, Because of a perilous foot that treads The reeds and the flowers into their beds. Because of a music that shakes and begins A different music and conscious of sins A tune was old at the birth of the river A tune is asleep in the blood for ever Asleep in the blood and loving and hating The time and the hour for which it is waiting. Puccini yields to a sob in the throat A hand round the heart as note answers note With the music that wrenches and melts and grips The hands hot on hands, the lips close on lips Cruelly volleying clearer and stronger Till we are a boy and a girl no longer. And we struggle in vain as long as we can Hating and loving and welcoming Pan, And you are a woman and I am a man. And you will not wonder and cannot reprove If I hear Pan’s pipes when I think of love. III.