614: Last Word on Love This February 14th

At The Ball

I chanced to see you. Music played,

Vain chatter filled the place

It seemed as though a veil were laid,

 Across your secret face.

Your eyes alone were sad; your way

Of speaking ravished me,

As though I heard a far pipe play,

And on the shores, the sea.

How welcome was your look of thought,

Your figure tall and slight;

And that clear laugh with sadness fraught

Is in my heart tonight.

And when the noise of day is stilled

Once more they come to me,

Those eyes with so much sadness filled,

That voice, with gaiety.

Down to the depths of sleep I go,

Where dreams uncaptured move.

But do I love you? Who can know?

Yet this, I think, is love.

Alexei Konstanovich Tolstoy (1817-1875)

This little gem appears in a slim volume published in 1943 (by Faber & Faber Ltd) and found today.  The translation is credited to Frances Cornford and E. Polianowsky Salaman.  

The italics are mine - and mine alone...

Until the next time.