A CONCERT OF GIORGIONE
[Women's voices outside and far below sing.]
Mouths together cannot speak?
Fie, a lie; dark breath meeting
Changes moulded by repeating
Lip and cheek. . . . . . . .
PARIS
There might be water over them or us
The way each long note follows itself so far.
They sing as if they feared they might not hear it.
GIORGIONE [at the window]
They are the deepest of the fig-tree shadow
Under the wall of the unknown woman's garden.
I see them by the light of their spread silks
Whose shapes make me restless and hopeless
As their sound would if we touched on a close stair.
They near: I hear the plash of a dipped hand.
O, they slip into starlight which will be
Like frost that cuts the scent in the last roses.
I see dim flowers melt in goldy silks
And knots of silk dropped over winy silks
And dimmer melting faces under silk hair—
I 'll add to them with a bowlful of loose roses
Which spread and fall all over bewildered as they—
O, one has dropt on the water whose topmost film
Ruffles it like low breeze, spreads it unbroken
And makes me poise and shiver with delight.
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