A poem that’s been on my mind these days…
Lovers, c 1850
We Have Not Long To Love
We have not long to love.
Light does not stay.
The tender things are those
we fold away.
Coarse fabrics are the ones
for common wear.
In silence I have watched you
comb your hair.
Intimate the silence,
dim and warm.
I could but did not, reach
to touch your arm.
I could, but do not, break
that which is still.
(Almost the faintest whisper
would be shrill.)
So moments pass as though
they wished to stay.
We have not long to love.
A night. A day….
Illustration for Alexander Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin by Lidia Timoshenko, 1878
Byron's Muse 