RODIN

II

TÊTE DE FEMME (LUXEMBOURG)

Published in the Weekly Critical Review

Paris, France

28 May 1903

(page 6)

It shall be said, when all is done,

The last line written, the last mountain

Climbed, the last look upon the sun

Taken, the last star in the fountain

Shattered, the you and I were one.

What shall they say, who come apace

After us, heedless, gallant? Seeing

Our statues, hearing of our race

Heroic tales, half-doubted, being

So far beyond a rime to trance.

What shall they say? For secret we

Have held our love, and holy. Splendour

Of light, and music of the sea

And eyes and heart serene and tender,

With kisses mingled utterly.

These were our ways. And who shall know?

What warrior bard our nuptial glories

Shall sing? Historic shall we go

Down through our country’s golden stories?

Shall lovers whisper “Even so

As he loved her do I love you”?

So much they shall know, surely; never

The truth, how lofty and fresh as dew

Our love began, abode for ever:

They cannot know us through and through.

We have exceeded all the past.

The future shall not build another.

This is the climax, first and last.

We stand upon the summit. Mother

Of ages, daughter of ages, cast

The fatal die, and turn to death!

Let evolution turn, involving

As when the gray sun sickeneth—

Ghostly September! so dissolving

Into the pale eternal breath.

When all is done, shall this be said.

When all is said, shall this be done

The aeon exhaust and finished,

And slumber steal upon the sun,

My dear, when you and I are dead.