He asked if I would carry the letter up-hill to her; I agreed and set out.

Upon arrival she read it aloud:
My Lady, tomorrow when the moon is full, listen for I will sing my ode to you.

To which she replied:
Tell the fool that he still cannot discern waxing from waning.

As I was leaving, she called out:
Dear girl, wait! 

She approached in tears and handed me a silken square.
Here … give him this kiss I’ve impressed upon the kerchief.  Let him know I will be listening on the wind for his song.

Chagall 2018