I asked them to be discreet, I told them
that if they wished to cavort naked
they could at least have the decency
to draw the curtains.
But they’ve gotten themselves into a terrible tangle
wrapped up in nothing but summer and white muslin.
Fortunately no one has noticed
there are no strings on my mandolin.
Can anyone tell there is no sound to my music?
Friend, this girl is tempting me into a duet.
The other one clearly thinks I’ve had too much to drink.
I can’t bear to watch as she pours my wine away.
Oh the shame. Even the sun has forgotten
how to light up my face.
A copy of The Pastoral Concert by Titian (or Giorgione) that hangs in the Mas de Graviers, Pourriers. The following poem was inspired by it.