Those Who Love
Thosewho love the most,Do not talk of their love,Francesca, Guinevere,Deirdre, Iseult, Heloise,In the fragrant gardens of heavenAre silent, or speak if at allOf fragile, inconsequent things.And a woman I used to knowWho loved one man from her youth,Against the strength of the fatesFighting in somber pride,Never spoke of this thing,But hearing his name by chance,A light would pass over her face.
Thosewho love the most,Do not talk of their love,Francesca, Guinevere,Deirdre, Iseult, Heloise,In the fragrant gardens of heavenAre silent, or speak if at allOf fragile, inconsequent things.And a woman I used to knowWho loved one man from her youth,Against the strength of the fatesFighting in somber pride,Never spoke of this thing,But hearing his name by chance,A light would pass over her face.
Thosewho love the most,Do not talk of their love,Francesca, Guinevere,Deirdre, Iseult, Heloise,In the fragrant gardens of heavenAre silent, or speak if at allOf fragile, inconsequent things.
Thosewho love the most,
Do not talk of their love,
Francesca, Guinevere,
Deirdre, Iseult, Heloise,
In the fragrant gardens of heaven
Are silent, or speak if at all
Of fragile, inconsequent things.
And a woman I used to knowWho loved one man from her youth,Against the strength of the fatesFighting in somber pride,Never spoke of this thing,But hearing his name by chance,A light would pass over her face.
And a woman I used to know
Who loved one man from her youth,
Against the strength of the fates
Fighting in somber pride,
Never spoke of this thing,
But hearing his name by chance,
A light would pass over her face.