Poems (Bibesco)/XXIII

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XXIII
I would, beloved, that I knew a wayMisleading things to say.I'd mint my love into some golden guesses,And weave a web of pregnant prettinesses.First I would lure you in, then catch you out,Resolved to teach you doubt.
Is there a way to learn to hide our love,And so ourselves disprove?Can this great certainty be self-deniedAnd moulded to a plaything of our pride?And can we practise wanton abstinenceEven in self-defence?
How could I dull my voice and dim my eyeFaced by your mockery?How could I tame the tune and lull the light,And steal a fear, for you, from my own fright?When all the time you heard my thumping heart,Too wise to play a part?
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I give you the great silences of love,That no words can disprove.The limelit loveliness, the lyric lilt,The gold that's tarnished, and the tune that's spilt,They have been conquered under the duressOf love's last emptiness.
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