six o'clock in the evening
O enthusiasm , admiration , love , if you were not at first wanderers , neither seeking nor choosing , if you did not blaze fiercely and foolishly like a flame burning in the noon-day sun , will you ever be able to light the darkness with all the splendours that are awaiting your spark in order to burst into life ? O sweet eyes of my Roseline , sweet eyes that shine under your soft , fair lashes like two opals set in pure gold , will you close for all time without having gazed for a moment upon the wonders of the earth , upon the real sky of our human life ? Is it true that your beams extinguish life and beauty wherever they rest ? It is six o'clock in the evening ; I am taking Rose along the boulevards , which are so interesting at this time of the year . As usual , I am astonished at everything that does not astonish her . I look at her as she walks , beautiful and impassive ; I keep step with her stride ; and my thoughts hover to and fro between this life of hers which refuses to take form and my ideals which are gradually fading out of existence . Alas , the days pass over her without arousing either desire or weariness !