Le Souvenir de l’Amour

I’m in love with a memory,
The whistle of the wind in the trees outside,
Your sheepish smile and reverie,
Your tormented soul; eyes just terrified.

I’m in love with the rain that spray’d that day,
Through the Venetian binds of the balcony,
While you curled your hair and felt my heart,
Played tunes on the self; a page from Descartes.

I’m in love with the whiff that day,
That held for long a binding sway
So concept time did fade away;
The odour of rain and pain and cheap Champaign,
That mixed so luscious with your sweet-scented curls,
That odour of northern hills,
of malted ale and Mary’s hate of Charolais.
Like the stone that stood alone and commanded men,
You have made me relent!

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