Here among the lovers I wait willing, Alone because I cannot be with you, Pensive in the press of people filling Promenades with passions spent and due. Yet I am happy in my melancholy, Vested in a love that like the night Arrays itself in dreams that veil me wholly, Leaving me contented till the light. Even were I with you, I would wander Near the things that would, but cannot be, Taking you with me towards that inner wonder In which we find the truest ecstasy. Nor would our love be greater not apart, Each with each together in the heart.
