And
suddenly
I surrender the garrison,
Feigning treason!
Feigning treason!
19th Century French Poetry
And why can't God be re-made?
Pierrot's Melancholy
On the first day, I drink their bored eyes complete. . .
And I would kiss their feet
To death. Oh, if they'd deign
To take my heart, blood-stained!
Then we talk. . . - it becomes Tenderness,
And finally I offer them friendliness.
Out of tenderness, I offer myself, as brother, guide;
They believe I'm shy,
Wink a soft eye of course:
'One word and I'm yours! '
(I believe it. ) Then the wrinkles I express,
Of the heart, smile into emptiness. . .
And suddenly I surrender the garrison,
Feigning treason!
(A narrow escape! )
At least, she'll write?
No, and I mourn her all that season. . .
- Oh! I've schemes beyond reason!
Who'll tame my heart! Sweet cure. . .
I'm true by nature!
Gentle as a nun!
Come! I'm no Don Juan,
Would it be such a wild adventure
Under the sun?