I lay relaxed, my mood attuned
to Chopin’s nocturnes, soothingly
caressed from muted strings.
My mind at ease, I asked from life
no boon, but let contentment like
a healing unguent permeate my soul.
Then thoughts, unbidden, filled the brief
lacuna in my brain – recalled that night
the Sylphides danced, and you
and I, clandestinely, were there
to share a magic hour.
O poignant past! But memory,
much mellowed by the years, then brought
from my illicit youthful love no residue
of pain.
For that bright stage no longer stands –
its last scene played, its last line said –
nor echoes there applauding hands,
and I am old – while you, my first,
my only love, dear Candida, are dead.

Also appears as "Candida" with slight variations - added 16th May 2006.

T. C. Hudson 1984

© T. C. Hudson.