CIV THE INDIFFERENT ONE

SINCE he has entered my chamber, whoever he may be (that is his concern): “See,” I say to my slave, “what a handsome man! and should not a courtesan be happy?”

I declare he is Adonis, Ares or Herakles, according to his countenance, or the Old Man of the Sea if his hair is pale silver. And then, what disdain for trifling youth!

“Ah!” I say, “if I had not to pay my florist and my goldsmith tomorrow, how I would love to say to thee: I do not wish thy gold! I am thy passionate servant!”

Then, when he has closed his arms under my shoulders, I see a boatman of the port pass like a divine image over the starry sky of my transparent lids.