Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune - Paul Verlaine

We sit here in the sun; Sunday morning, dragonflies Dancing, summer is high. You say, “It will be a hot day.” I nod, and stay silent, gazing at Another yellow dandelion in The grass, another dropped Splinter of the sun.

The day grows old, so do our Cells, the loves that we hoard In them, and the salt that crusts Our shirts as we bend to dig In the garden we are growing For this brief season given To us both, on the same earth.

O! What song will be ours For the night to come? What glaze Will coat our cupped hands As we drink again and again From the fountain that stands at the center, as it leaps Into the pale moonlight?

A song, set to Debussy's 'Clair de Lune', for N & V (recently wed), for the incidental happiness they, perhaps without intending, brought to my Sunday morning.