The Elegy of Élodie and Claire

In Paris fair, where Seine’s soft waves reflect the moon’s pale glow,
Two hearts did meet, in secret caves, where love’s sweet whispers flow.
Élodie, with raven locks, and eyes of twilight’s hue,
And Claire, whose smile, like dawn’s first sparks, could rend the night in two.

Beneath the linden’s mournful shade, in gardens cloaked by dusk,
They pledged their love, in whispers made, amidst the jasmine’s musk.
No chapel blessed their sacred vow, no priest their bond did seal,
For society, with iron brow, condemned their hearts’ appeal.

In garrets dim, by candlelight, they wove their dreams in thread,
Each touch a star against the night, each kiss a prayer unsaid.
Yet shadows lurked beyond their door, with eyes of cold disdain,
The world, with laws that love abhor, would bind their hearts in chain.

The salons bright, with gilded mirth, knew naught of their embrace,
Their love, a flame upon the earth, was deemed a foul disgrace.
Élodie’s hand, so soft, so fair, in Claire’s did trembling rest,
But whispers cruel, like poisoned air, their sanctuary pressed.

A father’s wrath, a mother’s tears, did tear sweet Claire away,
To convent walls, where endless years would shroud her light in gray.
Élodie, with anguished cry, did haunt the city’s maze,
Her heart, a tomb where hopes did lie, beneath the starless haze.

The convent’s gate, of iron wrought, held Claire in silent thrall,
Her voice, once free, now bound and caught, within its stony hall.
She carved their names on cloister stone, with nails that bled her pain,
And prayed for death to call her home, to Élodie again.

In Paris streets, where revels reign, Élodie walked alone,
Her soul consumed by grief’s cruel chain, her heart turned cold as stone.
By Seine’s dark banks, where willows weep, she cast her life’s last breath,
And sank into eternal sleep, embracing gentle death.

The river bore her to the sea, where none could scorn her love,
Yet Claire, in cell, would never be free, beneath the stars above.
In dreams, they meet, where shadows part, their hands entwined once more,
But dawn’s cold light breaks each fond heart, upon a distant shore.

O love, so pure, yet doomed to fade, beneath the world’s decree,
In Paris, where their vows were made, their shades still wander free.
Beneath the linden, soft and still, their whispers haunt the air,
A requiem for love’s lost will, for Élodie and Claire.