The Hill We Climb
By Constantine P Cavafy
I got bored looking at the stage
and raised my eyes to the box circle.
In one of the boxes I saw you
with your strange beauty, your decadent youthfulness.
My thoughts turned back at once
to all I’d heard about you that afternoon;
my mind and body were aroused.
And as I gazed enthralled
at your languid beauty, your languid youthfulness,
your tastefully discriminating dress,
in my imagination I kept picturing you
the way they’d talked about you that afternoon.
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