If you could look into my heart
You would yourself there see,
For all my life is now a veil
Through which your lambent beauty shines;
My thoughts, my words, my deeds
Are yours though still they mock me
With apparent ownership.
But you may not discover your known you
In me, for here are neither thoughts
Nor deeds of yours, yet still, 'tis you
The sweet essential you I know,
Though how I know I cannot tell,
And you are inaccessible!
But in my heart you truly see
The me that's really me, for all
My written words are all of me, and you,
And I am here for you to do with as you will.
18/3/1959
It seems that Cyril crossed out the last line of this poem. Not happy with it? But it must've been passed into Marianne's possession regardless.
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