“O Magali, and though the way
To furthest Ind you took,
I’d make myself the wind at sea
And carry thee.”
“Wert thou the wind, by some device
I’d fly another way;
I’d be the shaft, that melts the ice,
From the great orb of day.”
“O Magali, wert thou a ray
Of sunshine—in a trice
The emerald lizard I would be,
And drink in thee.”
“And wert thou, hidden ’mid the fern,
A salamander—nay,
I’d be the full moon, that doth turn,
For witches, night to day.”
O Magali, would’st thou essay
To be the moon, I’d learn
A soft and silver mist to be
Enfolding thee.”
“But though the mist enfold, not so
Shalt thou me yet waylay!
For I a pure, fair rose shall grow
And ’mid my branches sway.”
“O Magali, and though you may
Be loveliest rose, yet know
That I the butterfly shall be
Which kisseth thee.”
“Go to! pursuer, thou’lt not win,
Though thou should’st run for aye;
For in some forest oak’s rough skin
I will myself array.”
“O Magali, though thou grow grey
The doleful tree within,
A branch of ivy will I be
Embracing thee.”
“And if thou dost, thou wilt embrace
Only an oak’s decay,
For in the convent of Saint-Blaise,
A White Nun, I will pray.”