Copper Sun (Cullen)/One Day we Played a Game

by Countee Cullen

One Day We Played a Game

(Yolande: Her Poem)

One day we lay beneath an apple tree,Tumultuous with fruit, live with the bee,And there we played a gay, fantastic gameOf our own making, called Name me a Name.The grave was liberal, letting us endowOurselves with names of lovers who by nowAre dust, but rarer dust for loving highThan they shall be who let the red flame die. . . .Crouched sphinx-wise in the grass, you hugged your knees,And called me “Abelard;” I, “Heloise,”Rejoined, and added thereto, “Melisande;”Then “Pelleas,” I heard, and felt a handSlide into mine; joy would not let us speakAwhile, but only sit there cheek to cheek,Hand clasping hand. . . . till passion made us bold;“Tristan,” you purred to me. . . . I laughed, “Isolde.” “King Ninus, I,” I cried; snared in a kissYou named yourself my dark Semiramis.“Queen Guinevere,” I sang; you, “Lancelot.”My heart grew big with pride to think you’d notCried “Arthur,” whom his lovely queen forgotIn loving him whose name you called me by. . . .We two grew mad with loving then, and IWith whirlpool rapture strained you to my breast;“First love! First love!” I urged, and “Adam!” blessedMy urgency. My lips grew soft with “Eve,”And round with ardor purposing to leaveUpon your mouth a lasting seal of bliss. . . .But midway of our kissing came a hissAbove us in the apple tree; a sweetRed apple rolled between us at our feet,And looking up we saw with glide and dip,Cold supple coils among the branches slip.“Eve! Eve!” I cried, “Beware!” Too late. You bitHalf of the fruit away. . . . The rest of itI took, assuring you with misty eyes,“Fare each as each, we lose no Paradise.”