noon
Never in autumn , my sweet dove , never . I awake , on the contrary full of languor and poesy ; I was like that in my very cradle . We will prolong the night , and behind the drawn curtain , behind the closed shutter , we will remain asleep without sleeping . Buried in silence and shadow , delightfully stretched beneath your warm eider-down coverlets , we will slowly enjoy the happiness of being together , and we will wish one another good-morning only on the stroke of noon . You do not like noise , dear . I will not say a word . Not a murmur to disturb your unfinished dream and warn you that you are no longer sleeping ; not a breath to recall you to reality ; not a movement to rustle the coverings .