The stealthy autumn evening faded out, And the fair creatures dreaming by our side Words of such subtle savour to us sighed That since that time our souls tremble and doubt. VIII. CORTÈGE A silver-vested monkey trips And pirouettes before the face Of one who twists a kerchief's lace Between her well-gloved finger-tips. A little negro, a red elf, Carries her dropping train, and holds At arm's length all the heavy folds, Watching each fold displace itself. The monkey never lets his eyes Wander from the fair woman's breast, White wonder that to be possessed Would call a god out of the skies. Sometimes the little negro seems To lift his sumptuous burden up Higher than need be, in the hope Of seeing what all night he dreams. She goes by corridor and stair, Still to the insolent appeals Of her familiar animals Indifferent or unaware. IX. LES COQUILLAGES Each shell incrusted in the grot Where we two loved each other well An aspect of its own has got. The purple of a purple shell Is our souls' colour when they make Our burning heart's blood visible. This pallid shell affects to take Thy languors, when thy love-tired eyes Rebuke me for my mockery's sake. This counterfeits the harmonies Of thy pink ear, and this might be Thy plump short nape with rosy dyes. But one, among these, troubled me. X. EN PATINANT We were the victims, you and I, Madame, of mutual self deceits; And that which set our brains awry May well have been the summer heats. And the spring too, if I recall, Contributed to spoil our play, And yet its share, I think, was small In leading you and me astray. For air in springtime is so fresh That rose-buds Love has surely meant To match the roses of the flesh Have odours almost innocent; And even the lilies that outpour Their biting odours where the sun Is new in heaven, do but the more Enliven and enlighten one, So stealthily the zephyr blows A mocking breath that renders back The heart's rest and the soul's repose And the flower's aphrodisiac, And the five senses, peeping out, Take up their station at the feast, But, being by themselves, without Troubling the reason in the least. That was the time of azure skies, (Madame, do you remember it?) And sonnets to my lady's eyes, And cautious kisses not too sweet. Free from all passion's idle pother, Full of mere kindliness, how long, How well we liked not loved each other, Without one rapture or one wrong! Ah, happy hours! But summer came: Farewell, fresh breezes of the spring! A wind of pleasure like a flame Leapt on our senses wondering.