“There is a spot upon thy robe.--It is water which has fallen from the flowers.--Mnasidika, my little soul, thine irises are fairer than any in all Mytilene.--That I know well, that I know well.” LXXXII WAITING The sun has passed all the night among the dead while I have waited, seated upon my bed, weary from watching. The wick of the exhausted lamp has burned to the end. She will never return: there is the last star. I know well that she will never return. I know even the name that I hate. Nevertheless, I still wait. That she would come now! yes, that she would come, her hair disordered and without roses, her robe soiled, spotted, rumpled, her tongue dry and her eyelids black! When she opened the door, I would say to her.... But here she is.... It is her robe that I touch, her hands, her hair, her skin! I kiss her with distracted lips, and I weep. LXXXIII SOLITUDE For whom, now, shall I paint my lips? For whom shall I polish my nails? For whom shall I perfume my hair? For whom are my breasts powdered with rouge, if they no longer tempt her? For whom are my arms laved with milk, if they may never more embrace her? How can I sleep? How can I lay myself upon the bed? In the evening my hand, in all my bed, could not find her warm hand. I dare not return to my house, to the chamber so frightfully empty. I dare not reopen the door. I dare not even reopen mine eyes. LXXXIV A LETTER That is impossible, impossible. I supplicate thee upon my knees, with tears, all the tears I have wept over this horrible letter, not to abandon me thus. Consider thou how terrible it is to lose thee forever for a second time, after having had the great joy of hoping to reconquer thee. Ah! my love! thou knowest not to what point I have adored thee! Listen to me. Consent to see me one time more. Wilt thou be, tomorrow, at sundown, before thy door? Tomorrow, or the day following. I will come to take thee. Do not refuse me that. Perhaps the last time, so, but still for this once, for this one time! I demand it of thee, I beg it of thee, and know that, upon thy reply, the rest of my life depends. LXXXV THE ATTEMPT Thou wast jealous of us, Gyrinno, too ardent girl. How many garlands didst thou suspend from the knocker of our door! Thou didst wait for us in the passage, and thou didst follow us in the street. Now thou art, according to thy vows, extended upon the loved place and thy head is upon the pillow about which floats the odor of another woman. Thou art larger then she was. Thy different body startles me. See! I have yielded at last. Yes, it is I. Thou mayest play with my breasts, caress my belly, open my knees. My entire body is delivered to thy tireless lips--alas!