When his lover died, he decided to grow old in the closed mansion, with his memory and the mirror in which she saw herself one clear day.
Like the gold in the miser's coffer, he thought he would save all of yesterday in the clear mirror.
Time for him would not run out.
And after the first year, "How were they," he asked, "brown or black, her eyes? Light green? . . . Gray? How were they, good God, that I don't remember?"
He went out to the street one day of Spring, and silently strolled his double mourning, the heart locked . . .
From a window, in the hollow shade he saw flashing eyes.
He lowered his head and walked on . . . "Like those!"
Like the gold in the miser's coffer, he thought he would save all of yesterday in the clear mirror.
Time for him would not run out.
And after the first year, "How were they," he asked, "brown or black, her eyes? Light green? . . . Gray? How were they, good God, that I don't remember?"
He went out to the street one day of Spring, and silently strolled his double mourning, the heart locked . . .
From a window, in the hollow shade he saw flashing eyes.
He lowered his head and walked on . . . "Like those!"
