La Figlia che Piange

 
            O quam te memorem virgoŠ
 
 
STAND on the highest pavement of the stair‹
Lean on a garden urn‹
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair‹
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise‹
Fling them to the ground and turn            
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.
 
So I would have had him leave,
So I would have had her stand and grieve,
So he would have left            
As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,
As the mind deserts the body it has used.
I should find
Some way incomparably light and deft,
Some way we both should understand,            
Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand.
 
She turned away, but with the autumn weather
Compelled my imagination many days,
Many days and many hours:
Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.            
And I wonder how they should have been together!
I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
The troubled midnight and the noonąs repose.
 
   T.S. Eliot (1888­1965).  
   Prufrock and Other Observations.  1917.