I do not wish anyone to be near my sadness— <br />Not even your dear step and your loved face, <br />Nor your indolent hand which caresses with a finger <br />The lazy ribbon and the closed book. <br /> <br />Leave me. Let my door today remain closed; <br />Do not open my window to the fresh wind of morning; <br />My heart today is miserable and sullen <br />And everything seems to me somber and everything seems vain. <br /> <br />My sadness comes from something further than myself; <br />It is strange to me and is not of me; <br />And every man, whether he sings or he laughs or he loves, <br />In his time hears that which speaks low to him, <br /> <br />And something then stirs and awakens, <br />Is perturbed, spreads and laments in him, <br />Because of this dull voice which says in his ear <br />That the flower of life in its fruit is ashes.<br /><br />Henri de Regnier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-voice-39/
