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English
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"It was a young poet of Paris, beloved of many women, a drunkard of strange dreams. He too died because he loved me, and when he died there was none left whose voice seemed sweet after his. IT WAS A YOUNG POET OF PERIE BELOVED OF MANY WOMEN A DRUNKARD OF STRANGE DREAMS HE TOO DIED BECAUSE HE LOVED ME AND WHEN HE DIED THERE WAS NONE LEFT WHOSE VOICE SEEMED SWEET AFTER HIS
d years ago, and the other a little London boy with large eyes of velvet, who mid all the gloom of your great city saw and loved my face, as none had seen and loved it since she of Mitylene. I found the giant sitting by a country stream, holding a daffodil in his mighty hands and whistling to the birds. He took and wore me like a flower. I was to him as a nightingale that sang from his sleeve, for he loved so much besides. Yet me he loved best, as those who can read his secret poems understand. But my little London boy loved me only. For him the world held nothing but my face, and it was of his great love for me that he died." "But these were all poets," said Antony. "Yes, poets are the greatest of all lovers. Though all who since the world began have been the makers of beautiful things have loved me, I love my poets best. Sweeter than marble or many colours to my eyes is the sound of a poet singing in my ears—" "For whom, Silencieux, did you step down into the sad waters of the Seine? UGHING GIANT WHO LOVED ME THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO AND THE OTHER A LITTLE LONDON BOY WITH LARGE EYES OF VELVET WHO MIDDAR THE GLOOM OF YOUR GREAT CITY SAW AND LOVED MY FACE AS NONE HAD SEEN AND LOVED IT SINCE SHE OF MIDDLEEN I FANCIED GIANT SITTING BY A COUNTRY STREAM HOLDING A DAFFODIL IN HIS MIGHTY HANDS AND WHISTLING TO THE BIRDS HE TOOK AND WORE ME LIKE A FLOWER I WAS TO HIM AS A NIGHTINGALEZE THAT SANG FROM HIS SLEEVE FOR HE LOVED SO MUCH BESIDES YET HE LOVED ME BEST AS THOSE WHO CAN READ HIS SECRET POEMS UNDERSTAND BUT LITTLE LONDON BOY LOVED ME ONLY FOR HIM THE WORLD HELD NOTHING BUT MY FACE AND IT WAS OF HIS GREAT LOVE FOR ME THAT HE DIED BUT THESE WERE ALL POETS SAID ANTONY YES POETS ARE THE GREATEST OF ALL LOVERS THOUGH ALL WHO SINCE THE WORLD BEGAN HAVE BEEN THE MAKERS OF BEAUTIFUL THINGS HAVE LOVED ME I LOVE MY POETS BEST SWEETER THAN MARBLE ARE MANY COLORS TO MY EYES IS THE SOUND OF A POET SINGING IN MY EARS FOR WHOM SELAGO DID YOU STEP DOWN INTO THE SAD WATERS OF THE SEINE
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