We spoke few words; what need to speak at all
When just our eyes told all we had to tell,
There in the soft, cool blackness, splashed with light
From the red pools of burning wine without?
Few words. They chime like little silver bells
Within my heart now, or like trumpet blasts
Bear up my soul a little towards the gods.
We had three years. She died before my fall.
I thought of love as a crooked knife,
As a soft and passionate lord;