ed. Then I raised my own eyes; a voluptuous
melancholy seized us both. We breathed together the warm perfume wafted
to us from the garden; we followed, in its lingering course, the pale
light of the moon which glinted through the chestnut-trees. I thought of
a certain day when I had looked up at the broad expanse of heaven with
despair; I trembled at the recollection of that hour; life was so rich
now! I felt a hymn of praise welling up in my heart. Around the form of
my dear mistress I slipped my arm; she gently turned her head; her eyes
were bathed in tears. Her body yielded as does the rose, her open lips
fell on mine, and the universe was forgotten.

Eternal angel of happy nights, who shall interpret thy silence?
Mysterious vintage that flows from lips that meet as from a stainless
chalice! Intoxication of the senses! O, supremest joy! Yes, like God,
thou art immortal! Sublime exaltation of the creature, universal
communion of beings, thrice sacred pleasure, what have they sung who have
celebrated thy praise? They have called thee transitory, O thou who dost
create! And they have said that thy passing beams have illumined their
fugitive life. Words that are as feeble as the dying breath! Words of a
sensual brute who is astonished that he should live for an hour, and who
mistakes the rays of the eternal lamp for the spark which is struck from
the flint!

O love! thou principle of life! Precious flame over which all nature,
like a careful vestal, incessantly watches in the temple of God! Centre
of all, by whom all exists, the spirit of destruction would itself die,
blowing at thy flame! I am not astonished that thy name should be
blasphemed, for they do not know who thou art, they who think they have
seen thy face because they have opened their eyes; and when thou findest
thy true prophets, united on earth with a kiss, thou closest their eyes
lest they look upon the face of perfect joy.

But you, O rapturous delights, languishing smiles, and first caressing,
stammering utterance of love, you who can be seen, who are you? Are you
less in God's sight than all the rest, beautiful cherubim who soar in the
alcove and who bring to this world man awakened from the dream divine!
Ah! dear children of pleasure, how your mother loves you! It is you,
curious prattlers, who behold the first mysteries, touches, trembling yet
chaste, glances that are already insatiable, who begin to trace on the
heart, as a tentative sketch, the i