Camille

 
              An Early Fragment for a Ballet

 

So this was kissing, was flowers, was young men, death,

No fame fast enough to catch her fantastic breath,

Yet flowers, her tissue flowers, met their death

Fearless, and harlequin gallants by an hair’s breath

Took to themselves the avid whores of death,

And nothing was new now but the next breath,

So she died, so her frivolous frolicking death.

 

Here he had kissed her, here she kissed him once,

And candles, music, bemused questioning friends

Excited like sky rockets, like the once

Wonderful Champagne, and all her fast friends

Faded as his flowers would fade, golden as once

Gold lamps went out to welcome passionate friends:

Here she was worsted, but worsted only once.