Alexandra picked up her pen, quietly glanced at the Crown Prince, then quickly began to write on the paper:
[When moonlight flows over the Winter Palace's dome into a silver glaze,
I dip into the Neva River's mist to blend indigo tides—
If you ask why my colored brush always wanders southwest,
It is because there lies the unfinished canvas of my dreams.]
[Your sapphire-hued eyes reflect the morning dew of the Seine,
I let twelve colors ripple across the fabric of my painting;
The palette shivers gently to draw the border between dawn and dusk,
The lovely iris awakens upon satin threads...]
She wrote out the fourteen-line poem, carefully revised countless times, in elegant Roman script, then handed it to Joseph with eager anticipation:
"Your Highness, since I cannot bring anything with me into France, this is the only gift I could think to offer you."
