Always for the first time br Hardly do I know you by sight br You return at some hour of the night to a house at an angle to my window br A wholly imaginary house br It is there that from one second to the next br In the inviolate darkness br I anticipate once more the fascinating rift occurring br The one and only rift br In the facade and in my heart br The closer I come to you br In reality br The more the key sings at the door of the unknown room br Where you appear alone before me br At first you coalesce entirely with the brightness br The elusive angle of a curtain br It's a field of jasmine I gazed upon at dawn on a road in the vicinity of Grasse br With the diagonal slant of its girls picking br Behind them the dark falling wing of the plants stripped bare br Before them a T-square of dazzling light br The curtain invisibly raised br In a frenzy all the flowers swarm back in br It is you at grips with that too long hour never dim enough until sleep br You as though you could be br The same except that I shall perhaps never meet you br You pretend not to know I am watching you br Marvelously I am no longer sure you know br You idleness brings tears to my eyes br A swarm of interpretations surrounds each of your gestures br It's a honeydew hunt br There are rocking chairs on a deck there are branches that may well scratch you in the forest br There are in a shop window in the rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette br Two lovely crossed legs caught in long stockings br Flaring out in the center of a great white clover br There is a silken ladder rolled out over the ivy br There is br By my leaning over the precipice br Of your presence and your absence in hopeless fusion br My finding the secret br Of loving you br Always for the first timebr br Andre Bretonbr br