Poems (Bibesco)/XXVI

by Elizabeth Bibesco

XXVI

Perfection came and whispered in your ear
     "Listen, I'm here";
You turned away and moaned to me: "My dear,
     We must not hear.

"Let us be wise, my love, and be afraid—
     Even though God made
The glory, yours and mine, that we have known,
'Tis best to fly before the glory's flown.
     Go, fly, my own.

"To-morrow I might come, aflame, athirst,
     And take you first
Before you'd waked to love, and your dark eyes
Would close their lids upon my paradise,
     And in my Hell
I'd break your dream and burn my soul as well."

I said to you: "Oh man of little faith!
     It is no wraith
Of frightened loveliness I take to you,
No virgin avarice of white and blue,
     But just my pain,
That, having given you, I must give again."

Beauty, from out the madness of her bosom,
     Spoke: "I will blossom
Though all the saints and cowards say ' Be wise
     And eschew Paradise.'
So from the folly of fear's boundary
     I'll set perfection free,"

Wake up, my love, oh my dear love, Awake!
Lest when death comes he finds no life to take,
But sees a heap of sheaths that knew no swords.
An empty tomb embittered with the words—

"Here lies beauty,
 But I lie
Further from Eternity.
For in choosing to be wise
 I rejected Paradise."