I will take refuge in you here
And we will be quiet together.
There will be a gently ticking clock,
The breathy sigh of pages turning
And the tinkling ring of spoons
Against lustrous roseate china.
We will be held in the loving embrace
Of the old chintzed and shabby sofa
With its secret nesting corners
And its glorious overblown cushions.
And through the open windows
French , wooden, eau de nil,
A drifting sky will ruffle curtains
And gift the aching heady scent of lilacs.
We will not speak, we need no words
But when at last the end of day
Sees light slip stealthily to another place
You will catch the book as it closes and falls,
Press your cool fingers against my flushed and beating brow, my wearied eyes.
And I will cast myself adrift
On your strength, your life, your youth,
Rapt to the end with the aching heady scent of lilacs.