Où est-elle allée ? Et qui est là pour le dire ?
Mais cela nous le savons : son doux esprit bouge
Et se trouve là où la beauté ne faiblit pas,
Au gré d'autres courants, au milieu d'autres bosquets ;
Et pour nous là-bas, ah ! elle reste
Un magnifique souvenir
Jusqu'à l'éternité ;
Elle est venue, elle a aimé, et puis elle s'en est allée.
Still are there wonders of the dark and day: The muted shrilling of shy things at night, So small beneath the stars and moon; The peace, dream-frail, but perfect while the light Lies softly on the leaves at noon. These are, and these will be Until eternity; But she who loved them well has gone away.
Each dawn, while yet the east is veiléd grey, The birds about her window wake and sing; And far away, each day, some lark I know is singing where the grasses swing; Some robin calls and calls at dark. These are, and these will be Until eternity; But she who loved them well has gone away.
The wild flowers that she loved down green ways stray; Her roses lift their wistful buds at dawn, But not for eyes that loved them best; Only her little pansies are all gone, Some lying softly on her breast. And flowers will bud and be Until eternity; But she who loved them well has gone away.
Where has she gone? And who is there to say? But this we know: her gentle spirit moves And is where beauty never wanes, Perchance by other streams, mid other groves; And to us there, ah! she remains A lovely memory Until eternity; She came, she loved, and then she went away.
|
|
|
Les commentaires sont fermés.