Carrying melancholy in my bell sleeves
“Our mortal eyes however bright,/Are only darkened melancholy mirrors.”
I remember when I first saw your face. We were in a garden, chasing the sun on a winter day. I waited by the English roses, donning black from head to toe. I was in a mourning mood, carrying my melancholy in my bell sleeves. We didn’t say much that day, did we? Why would we, when we had our furtive glances? “Our mortal eyes,” Baudelaire said, “however bright,/Are only darkened melancholy mirrors.”
One glance, my darling, and we lived for a thousand years.
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