In the GardenAll in pink, upon the seat
in the garden, see her there
as she breathes in the sweet
and tender April air;
a book upon her knee,
an arm spread casually,
under the orange tree
sits Emilia: no one knows.
What to do? Slip to her side?
(I’m already halfway there...)
To enfold her in a tide
of kisses for hellos!
She doesn’t hear or see me
(gently, gently), doesn’t stir:
how carefully (how dreamy)
I come tiptoeing toward her.
She turns... ─ What are you reading,
Emmy? ─ How did you come here?
─ I was stealthily proceeding...
─ To do what?... ─ To hold you close!
─ Stop it!... ─ Listen... (Suddenly
the book falls...) Now she eludes me,