A maid, nude, save for gauze crocus in hue
Through which shines polished flesh like to a sun.
Two flute players stroll past unto the feasts,
Flower-ankleted and girdled—Joy’s young Priests;
Beside the crocus maid they pause and sing
In shrill tones colored like the bronze evening.
She hears and trembles her gold gauzes through:
“O le désir est douloureux et doux!”
XXXIII
We met last night beside a northern lake