I, my belt with the revolver,

for although she had a husband

I made a hollow in the earth

Nor nard nor mother-o’-pearl

Her thighs slipped away from me

but she already had a husband.

She, her four bodices.

As a man, I won’t repeat

have skin so fine,

Past九*九*藏*书*网 the blackberries,

half full of fire,

believing she was a maiden,

the trees had grown larger

The light of understanding

battled with the air.

I took off my tie,

and they opened to me suddenly

the reeds and the hawthorne

The starch of her petticoat

on the best of roads

but I did not fall in love

Without silver light on their foliage

she told me she was a maiden

The lanterns went out

without bridle stirrups.

h九_九_藏_书_网alf full of cold.

nor does glass with silver

like a proper gypsy.

and a horizon of dogs

I touched her sleeping breasts

has made me more discreet.

when I took her to the river.

underneath her cluster of hair

rent by ten knives.

So I took her to the river９９lib•ｎet

and the crickets lighted up.

I behaved like what I am,

like a piece of silk

and almost as if I was obliged to.

Smeared with sand and kisses

like startled fish,

The swords of the lilies

like spikes of hyacinth.

I gave her a large sewing basket,

sounded in my

藏书网

ears

the things she said to me.

she too off her dress.

It was on St. James night

mounted on a nacre mare

barked very far from the river.

of straw-colored satin,

shine with such brilliance.

In the farthest street corners

I took her away from the river.

That night I ran