Armenonville

By the lake at Armenonville in the Bois de Boulogne
Small begonias had been set in the embankment, both pink and red;
With polished leaf and brittle, juicy stem;
They covered the embankment; there were wagon-loads of them,
Charming and neat, gay colours in the warm shade.

We had preferred a table near the lake, half out of view,
Well out of hearing, for a voice not raised above
A low, impassioned question and its low reply.
We both leaned forward with our elbows on the table, and you
Watched my mouth while I answered, and it made me shy.
I looked about, but the waiters knew we were in love,
And matter-of-factly left us blissfully alone.

There swam across the lake, as I looked aside, avoiding
Your eyes for a moment, there swam from under the pink and red begonias
A small creature; I thought it was a water-rat; it swam very well,
In complete silence, and making no ripples at all
Hardly; and when suddenly I turned again to you,
Aware that you were speaking, and perhaps had been speaking for some time,
I was aghast at my absence, for truly I did not know
Whether had been asking or telling. you