Three After Swann
I had been thinking all the time, while I was asleep
1
a whole series of rooms
one time or another
my body
loyally preserving
glowing in the panes of
a different kind of pleasure
the successive theories
in which I had slept
the long course
shot with
heat
as gusts
the moonlight
of my bed
might be
its ceiling
partly walled
as though I were not there
tenanted in the quiet
shape of
flowering
still
no good my
waking, if
not caught
in their possible
presence
now
set in motion
and the rest
2
in some inferior
object
effectively lost
a shudder
an exquisite
origin
indifferent to me
which love
or rather this
mediocre, accidental, mortal
less than
but in myself
seeking
this unremembered
resistance
of what
old
forms of things
the power of expansion
subsists
immediately the old
weathers
stretch themselves and bend
so
all the flowers
and the whole
of it
3
the pale flowers opened
altered their own
wings
like a book in which one is astonished
indeed
grown old
a metamorphosis
hung like
radiance
on warm evenings of spring
still their colour
the savour
of lemon-wood
bounded by the window
would read in it
concentric waves of
the small
darkness