Something should remain untold, –
told Cecilia, –
I don’t know what thing precisely.
Anything between ‘possession’ and ‘possessions’,
‘longing’ and ‘belonging’ can do.
Any precious thing to keep it dim.
Perhaps, his friend's sneer:
“He is so aroused, I never saw him like that”?
Only it was already told and a sheer snare.
Perhaps, my friend’s conviction
that his name was George?
But he never remembered the unforgettable hers.
It was ‘Strong as death’ in translation.
Perhaps, my 'of course’s unshared.
Perhaps, his promises unkept.
‘Because I would not be ever sure of anything’,
Samuel Pepys wrote.
But then he doesn’t belong here.