The Restless Muse

- Chapter Nine -

THE RESTLESS MUSE

Je t'adore à l'égal de la voûte nocturne,

CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

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She stared out of the half-opened window that let in the gentle breeze of the early May night, which in turn rustled the parchments on Narcissa's desk. The pale full moon stood low still and was reflected in one of the window panes, thus creating the vision of two silvery moons on the clear, cloudless sky. There were countless stars: lights on the black fabric, sparkling and deceptive – she thought she'd only have to reach out to touch them so close they seemed. All she'd have to do was get up and go over to that window, climb onto the sill and – what, she thought angrily. Step out and drop dead, because she'd fall from the fifth floor on a romantic whim?! She wasn't romantic to start with; she found the movement sentimental and ridiculous. 'Pull yourself together, fool!'

She was sitting in the library at her usual place, looking for a certain article in a book, but she couldn't find it. She flipped through the whole book page by page, but it was all mixed up; an article on mistletoe followed another article on rosebuds, poppy seeds followed daisy petals, and still she couldn't find what she was searching for. She took the next book, finding that she had never even heard the title before.

Those weren't her books. But this was her place! How could anyone exchange the books on her table without her noticing this?! Or was this Severus' copy? It was about potions, so how come she had never heard the title?! This got her all the more curious, and she opened the book. The pictures were – well – strange. She didn't see what they had to do with the contents of the book or what exactly they were showing to begin with. Still, she liked them; they were colourful and rich in details that she didn't understand, but which appealed to her the more.

'Abyssis abyssum invocat' – this was written underneath a mainly black picture, whereas 'black' did it no justice. She was a trained painter, yet she had never imagined so many shades of black. Dull like a tar pit, glossy like the pupils in the eye of an intelligent person, uncertain like a shadow in a new moon night, greyish like Severus' worn-down robes, glittering like opals, deep like the surface of the water of a small pond in the forest, unfathomable like the night sky, plush and velvety like the curtains in Bella's old bedroom, sweaty like the skin of the awful horse she had once been urged to ride, grainy like the beaches of Lanzarote –

Abyssis abyssum invocat... She had been fluent in Latin since she was six, yet she couldn't remember where that quote was from, and even less could she see why it would be printed in a Potions book. She muttered the words as if that would help to make more sense and went on to leaf through the book. She found the recipe for Amortentia and some potion she had never heard of on the following page, Philialitiis. She eagerly scanned the ingredients, ever interested in new knowledge, especially in potions – pomegranate, vine grapes, passion fruit – what was this, a fruit salad?! Oh no, there came the digitalis and the dragon blood, poppy seeds, snake skin, bitter almonds, a good splash of Fire Whiskey and, amazingly, champagne...? Furthermore, ground oysters and a vampire fang. Apparently the grapes' only function was to make this ghastly mixture taste a little better!

Interesting it was nevertheless, so she read on. 'Squash the grapes with your fingers – knead them and squeeze them... Slowly pour the dragon blood – put the cauldron on the fire... Slowly heat the mixture to boiling point and stir it with your wand... Stir gently – stir fiercely... Make sure the heat remains on maximum level – stir anticlockwise – add the poppy seeds and keep an close eye on them while they pop...'

"Interesting read?"

She gave a start and looked up. Oh no. Since when did he regularly hang around in the library, eh? He displayed his habitual sneer – no teeth, the right corner of his mouth slightly curled upwards, the dazzlingly grey eyes sparkling mischievously. He threw a half-glance at the book before her and said in a low voice, "Philialitiis, eh? Is that entirely proper for a decent young lady such as yourself...?"

"Beat it, Malfoy!"

"This is a public place, Narcissa. I happen to be waiting for this –" He beckoned at the book before her. "I'll just stay here until you've finished."

She pushed it away. "There you go, you can have it. It's not mine anyway."

"Thank you. I'll wait for the others, too, though."

He stepped closer and she could smell his cologne. Everything about him seemed to be made of silk: his robes, his tie, his hair – blast it, it was entirely inappropriate to do as much as notice this! She forced her mind to draw away from these superficialities and suddenly saw the light. "You've taken away my books, haven't you?"

"Have I now? Why should I do such a thing?"

"Because you want to annoy me!"

"If that had been my attention, I would have failed completely. You appeared quite content when I got here."

"That's not the point!"

"What is the point?"

"Just leave me in peace, Malfoy!"

He did show his teeth now, grinning broadly. "Am I robbing you of your peace then?"

"Go away!"

"But why? I'm doing nothing. Go on and read your book."

"I don't want to!"

"So what do you want?"

"I want you –"

"You want me?" He stepped right to her table.

"Don't you dare go twisting my words! I want you to leave!"

He bent forward until his tie touched the open page before her, his face directly before her own. She wanted to draw back, jump up, get away, but she couldn't, she was completely immobile – had he stupefied her without her notice?! She couldn't even draw her gaze from him, staring right into that supremely arrogant face, taking in those amazing eyes, the smooth, even features, the sleek, silver strands; she smelled his scent that was both pleasant and infuriating, and she racked her brains what spell he might have put on her, but that scent bedazzled her too much to grasp a clear thought.

She heard her own voice which seemed to come from a far away place and sounded utterly unfamiliar, pleading, begging almost. "Please go away..."

"You don't want me to go away."

"Yes, I do!"

"No, Narcissa, you don't." He smiled, slowly stretching out his hand – she shivered, but she still couldn't move, couldn't speak, or protest – and by some evil spell she suddenly wanted him to touch her, could hardly wait for him to stroke her skin. She saw his slender fingers reach out for her, in slow-motion, she strained for him to hurry up, and finally, at last! He brushed a strand of hair from her temple. His fingers were icy and hot at the same time; the spot where he had touched her was burning and tickling, she felt the small hairs on her arms stand up straight.

Out of nowhere her guardian angel appeared to rescue her, in the unlikely form of little Severus Snape. She suddenly heard his voice, calling for 'Miss Black', and she was so relieved to hear him coming closer, she wasn't even scornful that he addressed her in that formal way. Lucius straightened up and stepped back, sneering again and appraising her closely.

"Miss Black!" Severus turned around the corner and his jaw dropped. "Oh Lord – oh – I'm so sorry, I – don't want to disturb – oh my –"

He turned on his heels; Narcissa couldn't find her voice, but Lucius spoke up instead. "Why don't you stay, Severus?"

'Yes! Stay! Keep that nasty man from – from – whatever it was that he was about to do before you came!' A thousand words and pleas rushed through Narcissa's brain, but she couldn't form a single useful sentence. Naturally obeying his great friend, Severus stopped, but decidedly averted his face. Lucius Malfoy told him to have a look, but the boy shook his head vigorously.

"Miss Black," he coughed. "Miss Black, why are you – uh..."

Of course, he was surprised to see her here with that guy of all persons, and finally, she found her voice again. "It's fine, Severus! Come here. Sit down with me."

The head shake got more frantic yet, and he still wouldn't look at her. "Miss Black... Uhm... Perhaps you haven't noticed – or perhaps this is on purpose, but nonetheless –"

"What? Haven't noticed what?!"

"But Miss Black!" He gesticulated, faintly fluttering his hand in her general direction. "Miss Black, you are – you are – erm – showing a bit more skin than – usually –"

What the heck was the weird child talking about?! She looked down and gave a scream of shock. She was naked! Well, not completely naked; she was still wearing her school robes, but unbuttoned, and nothing, nothing underneath! She was on the verge of fainting yet energetic enough to explode. "You bastard! I'll kill you, Malfoy! I will curse you! I will rip you into pieces; you are scum! You are worse than scum, you are – you are – awww! How could you do that?! Are you really so desperate?!"

"Ho, ho! I didn't do that, honey!"

She grabbed her lapels and pulled her robes over her bare chest, livid with fury. "Of course you did!"

He gave a laugh. "No, I'm afraid I did not. You did that all by yourself, Narcissa!"

"Not for my life!"

She faintly registered that Severus ran away, and Lucius took another step back, slowly letting his eyes wander from her waist up to her face, with relish. "You are a very beautiful creature, Narcissa! I suppose that's why nobody told you earlier that you – well, I guess you've simply forgotten to get entirely dressed in the morning. You appeared at breakfast like this, you know?"

"What?!"

"I must say I was delighted with your forgetfulness," he said in a low voice and came closer again, slowly, cautiously. "Such a gorgeous body... Such beautiful skin... I wonder how it would feel under my fingers..."

"Don't..." Her voice was hoarse; she stared at him like a rabbit would stare at a snake.

"Don't? Come on, Narcissa. I know you want me. As a matter of fact I know that I am the only one you've ever wanted..." She meant to ask him how he could be so abominably full of himself, but she couldn't; she could merely look at him. His voice had dropped so low, it was barely audible, but he went on relentlessly, "You dream of being touched. You tremble at the idea of how my fingers would roam your flesh – how my tongue would trail down your neck – you wonder if it is true what the other girls say – you want to try it out yourself..."

If she couldn't look away, she could at least close her eyes. Suddenly she felt the coldness of the chilly room – why hadn't she felt it all day – icy shivers ran down her spine, she got goose flesh. She knew he was very near now because the scent got more and more intense. Would he touch her? Would he kiss her? She hadn't the faintest clue how to kiss! He would think her a totally daft cow!

"Thou art more lovely than the darling buds of May..." She had always found this to be one of the cheesiest lines ever, but it sounded seductive from him, and he went on in this manner, "Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend upon thyself thy beauty's legacy? Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, knowing thy heart torments me with disdain, have put on black, and loving mourners be, looking with pretty ruth upon my pain..."

She completely forgot that they were in the library, that Madam Pince could turn around the next corner, that anybody could appear any moment now. She also forgot that she couldn't stand him. She even forgot to clasp her robes. All she could focus on were these eyes, these perplexing silvery eyes... She faintly heard that he was still talking – "If thy soul check thee that I come so near, swear to thy blind soul that I was thy will, and will, thy soul knows, is admitted there..." – but she couldn't grasp the meaning; her head was spinning, and her heart was beating like mad.

She couldn't say what happened next, but all of a sudden, she was lying in his arms on the table, his hands all over her. Something was bursting inside her; she pressed her lips on his, oblivious of the fact that she still had no idea how to kiss a boy. He was pleased enough with her, wasn't he, groaning her name, swearing that she was the only one for him. She let her fingers glide through his silky hair, down, down, stroking over his athletic body, willing him to do the same with her, and he did. He understood her.

He kissed her neck, savagely pulling on her open robes and grabbing her, stroking her, pressing her close; she felt like dying. If this was death, it was heaven; she clawed his long hair, keeping him exactly there, exactly like that. Lucius – Lucius – Lucius –

She was sitting bolt upright in her bed, breathing hard, and clasping her throat. Oh Lord! What – what – awkwardly clear memories rushed before her inner eye, each making her squirm. Oh for heaven's sake! Thanks Merlin that she jinxed her four poster bed soundproof each night before she went to sleep, what if she had made some sort of sound during this – this – this nightmare!

She pulled her covers up to her chin, after squinting down to make sure that she was completely dressed. Of course she was! This was ridiculous! She was furious with herself, her own subconscious, for this was all it was, a nasty, nasty trick that her subconscious had played her, without a doubt caused by that most impertinent person! His image flashed through her mind, making her tremble once more and this time for real. She shook herself. This must not be. It was absolutely unacceptable.

One could well say that Narcissa was a control freak, as far as she, her poise, was concerned. This included her dreams. She would not – not – tolerate such slips! Her desire for total control suggested that she wouldn't consider any possible implications either. She did not want to want Lucius Malfoy, so she didn't. That was all there was to say about it. It was preposterous anyway. Lucius Malfoy! Pht!

She wasn't blind, all right. So he was extremely good-looking, but what was that to her! Nothing! She did not care for superficial things like silky hair, an athletic build, or dazzling eyes. She appreciated noble features because she had a sense for aesthetic, but Lucius Malfoy wasn't the only boy in school with a good face, he wasn't! Just as well she appreciated Solomon Goldstein, Ben Harper or Thornton Mortlake. Or even her unbearable cousin Sirius, who was an idiot, but at least a handsome idiot. Beauty was a variety of art; it didn't impress her in any other way!

He was insufferable! He was haughty, lazy and vain! He had nothing but Quidditch and girls in his head! He believed himself to be the hottest thing that had ever hit the planet and that he could have everything, by whatever means. Did he want to get off with her? Probably. He'd think he had wasted his time if he hadn't had every single girl in school before his graduation! She was too good for such a guy! Much too good! And also too proud, by no means inclined to be number sixty-seven on his hit list.

All right. She would not deny it. There had been a time, yes, when she had fancied him a little bit. Okay, more than just a bit. But she had been twelve then! That didn't count! In her first year in school, she had still been a little – desperate, she hadn't settled in, she had hated anyone and anything, and Andy hadn't been enough to make her get over the absence of their parents, the only people in the world that she valued without too many conditions. She had been easy prey, simply looking for someone to distract her from her loneliness, and there he had been, that handsome senior, who had always pretended to be so nice around her. She had preferred thinking of him to all the things that had been troubling her; it was as simple as that!

But he had shown his true colours soon enough. She still couldn't say what she had done wrong; she believed that she hadn't let her crush show. Nevertheless he had noticed it and decided to expose her in front of his mates. She had never been so mortified in all her life! He had driven her over the edge; she had used language that she normally wouldn't have taken in her mouth for anything. She wouldn't use swear words, she treasured her countenance, and he had made her lose it completely! But that was then, she had been a very little girl then, and she wasn't going to let it happen again.

She gave him the goby at breakfast table after this terrible night; she couldn't help it but hear him though. He was talking animatedly to his friends about the match next Saturday, discussing some sort of manoeuvre. Graham Goyle, one of his moronic buddies, cried, "But it all comes to nothing if you're not allowed to play, Malf!"

"Don't you rack your big head, Golly. I will play and –"

"Are you quite sure?" Ben Harper butted in. "Because I can replace you if you will."

"I'd rather replace myself with a sack of Hippogriff dung, Harper, if I didn't play myself, which I will do, of course. Don't make such a fuss!"

"Uhm – no offence, Malfoy, but do you seriously believe you get through a single week without cursing anyone...?"

"Shut up, Derrick."

"Come on, Malfoy, we need to be prepared for all possible cases! What do we do if you don't play?"

Narcissa had overheard it all, at first thinking that he might be ill or injured, so Madam Pomfrey could prohibit him to play. Then she realised that this was unlikely. He appeared to have cursed someone, and if he cursed someone else, he'd be banned from playing. Now that wasn't like old Slughorn, was it? It was Lucius Malfoy's hobby to put nasty spells on people, and Slughorn had never done much about it, after all he was a Quidditch star, and his father financed the team, the school choir, the drama club and who knew what else. Enough, anyway, to keep his wayward son out of trouble.

A ray of light on such a black morning, she thought gleefully. Lucius Malfoy had got himself into real trouble, ha! Served him right! He had it coming! She couldn't bridle her curiosity, and when she met little Severus in the library, she plucked up courage and asked him what had happened, to add some fuel to her spite. It turned out that Malfoy had had a severe clash with Madam Pince, and that must have happened right after she had left the library the day before. Good! So not only she had been vexed! Some more balance for the scales of justice in the world!

Lucius himself knew nothing of all this, of course. He had no idea that his lovely Narcissa had heard of his latest faux-pas, and naturally, he was perfectly ignorant of the sort of dreams that would haunt her at night. Had he known anything about this, his happiness would have been complete, but as things were, he felt nothing but downcast. He, too, had had a little chat with Severus and inquired why on earth Narcissa would hate him so much, or rather: what he'd have to do to make her hate him a little less.

Severus had been thoroughly embarrassed by the topic, but a little persistence had done the job. The answers had been so obvious, he wanted to slap himself for even asking. According to Severus, Narcissa would criticise his laziness concerning anything like education. She thought that he thought that Rodin was a sort of black pudding and Ulan Bator a Balkan politician. Oh well. He knew that Ulan Bator was the capital of some far-away country, though he had never heard the word – name...? – 'Rodin' before... He got the gist, okay. He could do something about this easily.

Her other objection was his long row of girlfriends. Severus had at once crushed his hopes that this might be due to jealousy. She found it bad style, apparently. Lucius wasn't disheartened so quickly nevertheless. She minded? She would get her will! He had long got bored with those fatuous chicks anyway. And perhaps Narcissa would look at him with a more friendly eye then! And once she no longer rejected him so fiercely, she might be coaxed into some sort of date, and then he could prove her that he wasn't just some uninformed oaf, and for heaven's sake, in that case she couldn't be completely immune to his looks and charms, could she?!

He would not be discouraged; that wasn't his way. And feeling so crestfallen wasn't like him either; he did things, he didn't simply wait for them to happen by chance. Consequently, he marched into the library after his last class, despite Madam Pince – who clearly still had a grudge on him. He decided to start with an anthology about French Poetry – Severus had mentioned that she was very fond of this crap. Madam Pince eyed him grimly, but what the heck!

'Ma pauvre muse, hélas! Qu'as-tu donc ce matin?

Tes yeux creux sont peuplés de visions nocturnes,

Et je vois tour à tour réfléchis sur ton teint

La folie et l'horreur, froides et taciturnes.'

'Alas, poor Muse, what ails you so today?

Your hollow eyes with midnight visions burn,

And turn about, in your complexion play

Madness and horror, cold and taciturn.'

This was something about a – muse, right? Haunted by nightmares – and they didn't flatter her complexion? And Narcissa liked this?! He flipped through the book; maybe he had just had a bad start. 'There you go', he thought, 'Galanteries'. That sounded more like it.

'À la très chère, à la très belle...' He stuck his tongue in his cheek and arched a brow. With verses like that, he could persuade even Chloe to come back to him! These sly French blokes, they knew how to do it, eh? Sure, it was the corniest thing he had ever heard, but he'd bet a hundred galleons that it'd work still! Admittedly, for Narcissa, he'd need more than that, but he would keep this stuff in mind for the less gifted chicks...

He also knew that she was fluent in French, and he wasn't. Perhaps he should give it a try with English poetry for a start. Under Madam Pince's stern observation, he brought this book back and fetched another. The names in the table of contents clearly indicated that half of the authors were Muggles, but he wouldn't give up because of that. Narcissa was fond if this – he would read it – and that was that.

For two whole hours, he brooded over that dusty tome, less interested than assiduous. But two hours must suffice. He was going to take his NEWTs next year, and he might be a lazy dog, but he wasn't stupid. He didn't pretend to work hard, but he did do enough to come through just fine, so he got up to put back those cheesy poets and fetch a couple of Transfiguration books instead.

On his way he tried to dodge Madam Pince and made a small detour when he came across the very reason why he had come here in the first place. He was slightly startled, but Narcissa seemed downright shocked; her cheeks turned paper-white and her eyes wide. It was never too late, he told himself, to make a good impression, so he put on his best smile, but before he could open his mouth, she already snapped at him.

"What are you doing here?! Are you pursuing me or something?!"

"What? Listen, this is a public place and –"

She looked as if he had slapped her and cried, "Oh, shut up!"

He made a soothing gesture, both because he really didn't want to quarrel with her and because he couldn't afford another brawl with Madam Pince in his situation. Narcissa glanced at the books in his arms and furrowed her brow contemptuously. "What's this? What would you know about poetry, Malfoy?!"

He straightened his back. This was the opportune moment to exercise his newly-gained knowledge. "Oh, you know, just a bit of light reading. 'Ma pauvre muse, hélas! Qu'as-tu donc ce matin? Tes yeux creux sont peuplés de visions nocturnes – uh, hang on – et je vois tour à tour réfléchis sur ton teint la folie et l'horreur, froides et taciturnes.' I want to polish my French, you see?"

He had thought this would impress her; his pronunciation hadn't been so bad, right? But instead she stared at him as if he was a dragon. Her hand flew to her lapels and gathered her robes over her chest. "You – you –"

"Oh, come on, Narcissa. Why are you so constantly offended as soon as I open my mouth?"

She made no reply; he could literally see how she was working on her countenance, but he didn't see what he had done wrong this time, for goodness' sake! She was always so composed – he had seen her cool and serene while fierce insults were hurled at her, boys who wanted to ask her out had made complete fools of themselves in front of her, and her face had shown no reaction, but one crappy poem would give her a heart attack?!

"Malfoy," she said flatly. "You will stay away from me. You get me? Stay. Away."

"What's your sodding problem?"

"Listen. This is what you will do now – you keep your mouth shut, turn around and walk away. You will stay away from me, at least twenty feet, and you will not address me in any possible way –"

"And why should I do that? You're not entitled to boss me around!"

"No... Not entitled perhaps. But capable." She had regained her composure and smirked icily. She gave him a pointed glance, then looked over to the next bookshelf. "I tell you what I will do. I will knock over this shelf, and perhaps set a couple of books on fire. I will scream at the top of my lungs, and when Madam Pince rushes over, I will tell her all the horrible things you said about her and that you've made all that mess."

He crossed his arms and sneered. She went on, "As an effect, you'll be banned from the Quidditch team. Such a shame – someone else will be the Captain and lead the team to the Cup. But you'll be sitting in the stands and applauding; that's not so bad either." She crossed her arms, too. "Unless, of course, you will give me your word to keep away from me. It's easy. When you spot me somewhere, you simply take a little detour. I'm easily avoided, believe me."

He gave a laugh. "Are you trying to blackmail me?"

"Yes. I'm a top student, no teacher has ever complained about me, and I haven't got a single bad mark on my record. Who do you think is more credible, you or I?"

"I hadn't thought it possible that I could ever have underestimated you, and still you are capable of surprising me..." He smiled, looking almost enraptured. "What if I gave you that promise now, but wouldn't stick to my word?"

"In that case, I'd make sure that you be expelled from Hogwarts."

"I'm rich; I don't need to finish school."

"But you care for your image. I can slander you; I can ruin your reputation."

"Let me get that straight. It is so extremely important to you that I keep out of your sight that you'd be willing to do this all? Set sacrosanct books on fire? Have me thrown off the team? Pursue my expulsion?"

"If you will put it like that."

He saw that she was absolutely serious and briefly considered his options. He knew what he wanted. "All right. Knock it over. Start screaming. Have me expelled from the team. I don't give a damn. But in return, go out with me."

She laughed incredulously. "Why on earth are you so desperate to go out with me? I don't get it! I won't sleep with you, Malfoy. I will not. Never. Can't you get that in your head?"

"That's not what I'm talking about. I merely want to have a date with you. No sex. Only talking and a nice dinner."

"Yeah, sure! For Merlin's sake, I hate those cows, but I still hear what they're saying. I know your way. And trust me, no one, especially not you, can treat me like that."

"My dearest Narcissa. Now you will listen to me for a minute. Yes, I've behaved shamefully towards a whole lot of girls. Yes, I had no further interest in any of them, apart from having sex with them. I cannot and will not deny the truth of all that. But that isn't what I want from you. I know that you're not like that. Your uniqueness is one of the reasons I value you so much. I cannot claim that I wouldn't like to – you know – because you are utterly beautiful and sexy. But I know that it won't happen, and that's fine. I just want to get to know you."

She shook her head, laughing in exasperation. "But I don't want to get to know you!"

"Why don't you give me a chance? One single chance, that's all I'm asking for!"

"I'm getting tired of this. If you don't take me seriously – there you go." She rolled her eyes and took her wand out. "Last chance, Malfoy. If I were you, I'd take it."

"Go ahead. The only chance I want is with you."

She put her threat in action, pulling down four shelves in total and yelling like mad. He observed her in silence and was astonished at his own calm. In fact, he was almost happy. Yes, he wouldn't be the Captain of his own team; he would sit in the audience when they'd win the Cup after all. Yesterday, it had still been so terribly important to him to stay on the team. But now it no longer counted. He had suddenly realised that she did not hate him. He was no expert at psychology, but he understood enough to know that she wouldn't have made all this fuss if he were nothing to her.

Madam Pince came, half stumped, half furious. Narcissa threw him one long quizzical look as if to say, 'You can still prevent this', and he smiled in return.

"Madam Pince, I suggest we go and see my Head of House. I have said some awful things about you, Miss Black here defended you, we began to argue and then I – well – overreacted a little bit."

*******

Je t'adore... From: Charles Baudelaire, 'Je t'adore à l'égal de la voûte nocturne'. – English translation by: Jacques LeClercq, NY, 1958 :

I worship you, O proud and taciturn,

As I do night's high vault; O sorrow's urn,

I love you all the more because you flee

And seem, gem of my nights, ironically

To multiply the weary leagues that sunder

My arms from all infinity's blue wonder.

I skirmish and I climb to the attack,

I, a worms' chorus on a corpse's back,

O fierce cruel beast, I cherish to the full

The very chill that makes you beautiful.

Abyssis... The abyss calls out for the abyss.

Thou art more lovely... Inspired by: William Shakespeare, 'Sonnet No. XVIII'.

Unthrifty loveliness... From: William Shakespeare, 'Sonnet No. IV'.

Thine eyes I love... From: William Shakespeare, 'Sonnet No. CXXXII'.

If thy soul... From: William Shakespeare, 'Sonnet No. CXXXVI'.

Ma pauvre muse/Alas, poor muse... From: Charles Baudelaire, 'La Muse Malade'. – English translation by: Roy Campbell, NY, 1952.

À la très chère... From: Charles Baudelaire, 'Hymne'. – To the dearest, to the most beautiful.

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