The poem
The threefold terror of love; a fallen flare Through the hollow of an ear; Wings beating about the room; The terror of all terrors that I bore The Heavens in my womb.
Had I not found content among the shows Every common woman knows, Chimney corner, garden walk, Or rocky cistern where we tread the clothes And gather all the talk?
What is this flesh I purchased with my pains, This fallen star my milk sustains, This love that makes my heart's blood stop Or strikes a Sudden chill into my bones And bids my hair stand up?
Has this something to do with Constance or Eloise?
Méchant! T'as l'art de tout gacher.
Je me suis fait méchamment pincer. J'ai droit de taquiner. Non?