a poem by Sara Teasdale
Nothing but darkness enters in this room,
Nothing but darkness and the winter night,
Yet on this bed once years ago a light
Silvered the sheets with an unearthly bloom;
It was the planet Venus in the west
Casting a square of brightness on this bed,
And in that light your dark and lovely head
Lay for a while and seemed to be at rest.
But that the light is gone, and that no more
Even if it were here, would you be here,-
That is one line in a long tragic play
That has been acted many times before,
And acted best when not a single tear
Falls,- when the mind and not the heart holds sway.
avec une tête plein des memoires…