after Aux officiers de la garde blanche by Louise de Vilmorin

Officers of the White Guard,

Save me from those thoughts that wake at night.

Save me from the brush of bodies and the light

Touch of a hand upon my hip.

Save me, most of all, from him

Who leads me by the sleeve

Down the traps of brimming hands

And elsewheres found in gleaming waters.

Spare me from a wracking, restless love

That lasts but one day more than this,

And the cold dampness of a watchful dread,

Pressing on the windows and the doors

My profile, a woman already dead.

Officers of the White Guard,

I do not want to weep for him

On Earth. I want to weep the rain upon

His earth, upon his star, in boxwood framed,

When, long from now, I hover colorless

Above an endless tread of weariness.

Officers of clearest conscience,

You who shape your forms to please,

Entrust that space where birds sing

With a message for the few who seek restraint

And forge for us chains without rings.