"You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends, And how, how rare and strange it is, to find In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends, To find a friend who has these qualities, Who has, and gives Those qualities upon which friendship lives. "So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul Should be resurrected only among friends Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room." -And so the conversation slips Among velleities and carefully caught regrets Through attenuated tones of violins Mingled with remote cornets And begins. We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and fingertips. They are resting and saving themselves to be rightįor the Jellicle Moon and the Jellicle Ball.įornication: but that was in another country,Īmong the smoke and fog of a December afternoon You have the scene arrange itself-as it will seem to do- With "I have saved this afternoon for you" And four wax candles in the darkened room, Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead, An atmosphere of Juliet's tomb Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid. You would say they had nothing to do at all:
They will practise a caper or two in the hall. To dance by the light of the Jellicle Moon. They're quiet enough in the morning hours,
They make their toilette and take their repose: They know how to dance a gavotte and a jig. They like to practise their airs and graces And pleasant to hear when they caterwaul.
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