Do not talk of their love,
Francesca, Guinevere,
Deirde, Iseult, Heloise,
In the fragment gardens of heaven
are silent...
And a woman I used to know
Who loved one man from her youth,
Against the strenghth 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.
Sara Teasdale
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