"
"You may say what you please to-morrow," she whispered, but Villon
would not have it so.
"Alas, no! To-morrow I shall be mortally sober; to-night I am
divinely drunk-drunk with star wine, flower wine, song wine. The
stars burn my brain; the roses pierce my flesh; the songs trouble my
soul. To-night, if I dared, I would ease my heart."
The girl spoke so faintly that only a lover's ears could hear the
words:
"You may say what you please to-night."
Villon caught at his heart as if to keep it in the compass of his
breast.
"If I were to die to-morrow, I would tell you this to-night: I love
you. These are easy words to say, yet my heart fails as I say them,
for their meaning is as full and musical as the Bell of Doom. Men
are such fools that they have but one name for a thousand meanings,
and beggar the poor love-word to base kitchen usages and work-a-day
desires. But I would keep it holy for the flame which it sometimes
pleases heaven to light in one heart for the worship of another. I
never knew what love was till I saw a girl's face on a May morning
and wisdom stripped the rind from my naked heart. The God in me
leaped into being to greet the God in your eyes.
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