Augustine to Theodora, Andre Demers (December 2025)

Augustine to Theodora

385 AD

Long have I lingered, wasting time in bed, 
While the morn is bright and ripe for timely deeds, 
Gazing into thine eyes that always said, 
“A little longer, longer; my soul needs 

To try once more if it may possess you wholly 
With just the eyes, if touch has grown unholy.” 

O, Theodora, now I rise betimes, 
And thou must leave my side so painfully, 
Ripped like a rib. How could it be a crime 
To love thee out of wedlock? Dear to me 
Art thou forever, and may not be less dear, 
Though parting should pierce me as it were a spear. 

And yet I may not be as dear to thee 
As God, who bids thee sail back ‘cross the sea 
To Africa, never to love another, 
Not I, not any. Alas, my saintly mother 
Has prayed for me so long to approach the light, 
And plots a marriage that ends our lusty night. 

But she must come of age, and so I wait 
Two long hard years for nothing, and time is 
So cruel, I fear impatience for a mate, 
For all the charms of sweet base fleshly bliss, 
Will scorn the waiting in cold chastity, 
For I have needs, being spoiled cohabiting with thee. 
 
And those needs are but wants, renounceable, 
But undeniably calling like a siren-song. 
How can I dash them, who am born fanciful, 
Against the rocks, without my soul along 
With them to drown? There is no quenching love, 
But it may learn God’s lacklessness, and itself may rise above.

 
It is not good for man to be alone, 
But for a god or beast or those of us 
Who have great need of contemplation’s throne, 
It may be necessary. With dear Alypius 
I have conferred, and I almost conclude 
That the love of wisdom marriage must exclude, 

For ever so many reasons. If no wives 
Would sweetly keep us scholars from our work, 
We might live studiously our perfect lives, 
Together, and pool our gold, and never shirk
Our duty of aiding old philosophy 
To have new birth in Socratic midwifery. 

Our God could not as yet Himself reveal 
To me with the command of womanly charms, 
And I am waiting for such words to steal 
Into my ear, to lay in Scripture’s arms, 
That I have not been satisfied by before, 
At once, all earnest of it evermore. 

They wait. And I wait, and I have asked 
Almighty God so brashly to wait as well, 
To give His gifts of virtue not so fast, 
For in the house of pleasure still I dwell, 
But this is how I kiss my youth goodbye, 
With great convulsions, led by my lustful eye. 
 
We met, so young and foolish and so prideful, 
Each of us a deeply feeling little seeker; 
And now the heart cannot forget; delightful 
Was every kiss that made my piety weaker, 
And I must feel small shame about them now, 
Only enough to learn, even as thou, 

That free will is a gift not to be wasted, 
And sin is a habit and evil no thing at all. 
No one may put such knowledge by untasted, 
But we must rise to wisdom by a fall. 
O, Theodora, now I rise betimes, 
Like some old starving prisoner who climbs

 
Out of the pit of his own soul. It has 
Been rich and sweet to live with you, to pass 
My life away, at least productive in 
Raising our child. Was he born in sin? 

I think so now a little, but even such 
Vile things as sin occasion grace to touch 
Us by the consequences, and he is 
The kind of mind that brings his father bliss. 

So now I must marry not for love, but money. 
I am my mother’s son, and I must do 
The advantageous thing. My face is runny, 
And I can fathom not what will ensue 
Of parting from a part of me like you, 
Or how my mood will ever again be sunny. 

And I am wondering childishly if it is 
Harder for thee than me, if I will miss 
Thee every day of my remaining life, 
As though, unmarried, thou were my true wife. 

I wish it were some other way, of course, 

But I am a slave to custom’s social force... 

Until I am not. Maybe a no is in me, 

A yes to God, that sprints, catlike, freely 

Throughout the house when sudden mirth will fall 

On me, for a voice that has given its latest call. 

Sleep well, dream well, be well, keep well, farewell, 

Farewell, sweet sister. We will never meet 

But in the life to come, and if in hell, 

Even in hell, to have thy company is sweet. 

Yet I do know thou hast a place in heaven; 

To me this certainty from God is given. 

Some things can never be confessed to any 

That may be offered up to all the many, 

To God or to posterity. And some 

Only to one whose tongue for love is dumb. 

You knew my failures, and unfailingly forgave, 

And such examples have the power to save. 

It never is too late to change our life, 

And the new life, waiting beyond the strife 

Of growing pains, is fated for thou and I, 

So one last time I allow myself to cry.